Big Bang Theory
by Random-Battlecry
Summary: Extras added, the Lost Episode with VH and Hannah's peculiar romance! Story finished! Carl and Van Helsing investigate a series of murders, some years old, connected to a former insane-asylum inmate. Complete.
1. Don't Be Forever

Chapter 1: Don't Be Forever

_Tirra-lirra, to speak sooth_

_No-one knows the awful truth_

A long, a very long time ago,a man was saying goodbye. He may have been a good man— he may have been a strong man— but man he was, and as such couldn't live forever.

His daughter said, "Don't be long."

He threw back his head and laughed, white teeth flashing in the early morning sun, then gathered the child into his arms.

"I'm not going very far. I'll be back before the week is out, now, won't I?"

She didn't reply, only hugged tighter around his neck before letting him go. He set her back on the green lawn, ran a hand lightly over her head, and ceased smiling as he turned to his wife.

"You'll take good care of her," he said. It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a request.

"Of course I—"

"Never mind that. You will. This time." He clasped hands with her because, for all her faults, and her faults were many, he was fond of his wife for the sake of what she had been, once. Now, he tried not to reflect, she was as near to useless as you could get without actually being dead.

His mouth turned even further down and went bitter.

"If he comes here while I'm gone—" he said harshly.

"No need to worry about that," said his wife, her genteel English accent making her voice smooth and dulcet. Her eyes slipped off him and looked into the distance.

He stood for a few seconds, breathing hard. "Just you be sure of that," he said, and left.

The woman turned to the small girl, gave her a smile, and said, "Come." The girl took her proffered hand with all the innocence of an unworldy soul, and together they went into the house.

The door closed behind them very quietly.

Light shone blithely through the window one morning, illuminating everything there was to be illuminated.

It shone off the shiny brass teakettle.

It danced off the silver-plated taps.

It spun off the polished surface of the floor.

It glimmered off the puddle of something wet on the kitchen table.

It was reflected dully even in the blank, grey, wide-open eyes of the man lying facedown there.

That's how bright the light was.

Bright enough to illuminate both life and the lack of it.


	2. Embarkation

Own anything? Hah! I barely even have control over my vital functions!

Chapter One: Embarkation

_Birds may swim and fish may fly_

_There is more here than meets the eye_

Carl said "Goodbye!" loudly. He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular, and this was fine, because no one was paying him any attention anyway. Everyone was busy, cleaning up, mostly. Two days ago there had been an unfortunate accident that had occurred (initially at any rate) in Carl's laboratory. The damage spread though most of the cavernous sturcture under the Vatican, and was in no way Carl's fault. Carl had hastened to point that out to everyone.

"You _never_ smoke a pipe around highly inflammable dynamite-infused materials!" he complained to everyone who would listen, and quite a few who wouldn't. "I tried to warn him—"

The man with the pipe was spending a few days in one of the few undamaged hospice beds. Carl had gone to see him once, and didn't dare go again. As he escaped the hospice, ducking the books and other objects being hurled at him, he said, "Sorry, Van Helsing!" A wordless shout of incoherent rage was the only reply.

Now, as he placed a few last minute articles in his knapsack, he heard the loud tread of large feet behind him. Van Helsing stood there, one eye swollen and blackened, his hair shorn off, and one arm in a sling. Carl had a mad desire to laugh, but prevented himself, out of self-preservation. Van Helsing leant against the rock wall, tried to fold his arms and stopped with a wince, and regarded Carl sternly with his one good eye.

"Don't be getting yourself in trouble, friar."

"I won't, Van Helsing. It's only Shropshire, after all."

"Don't give me 'its only Shropshire.' Its bigger than you think, you know. The lat census brought the count up to over eight thousand, with more born every week."

"I can handle it," Carl replied, grateful that Van Helsing wasn't railing at him again about the accident. Or, for that matter, throwing things at him.

"And don't forget your most important matter to attend to—"

"My mother's funeral?" Carl said, though he knew that's not what Van Helsing was going to say.

The monster hunter grinned lopsidedly, about all he could manage at this point. "Well, that, and—"

"I know, I know," interrupted Carl testily. "And the supplies for your precious new way of killing people, lots of people, all at one time. I still contend that the whole situation isn'ta good idea."

"Carl," said Van Helsing, his eyes lighting up at the thought of his proposed waponry, "it's a portable canon capable of destroying an entire building. How could it not be a good idea?"

Carl shook his head. "You get more and more bloodthirsty as time goes on, Van Helsing. And isn't it, isn't it interesting, how my relatively healthy mother in Shropshire dies just when you need me to _go_ to Shropshire? Isn't that interesting?"

"Now, Carl," said Van Helsing, "how could I have killed your mother when you know I've been at the Vatican the past several months? Murderous telepathy?"

Carl grunted. "Its been known to happen. Not, admittedly, by an oversexed brawn who hasn't got two brain cells to rub together, but— I suppose there's a first time for everything isn't there?"

He grabbed his knapsack and rushed out the door before this could sink in.

The blast of Van Helsing's roar of outrage fluttered the edges of Carl's flock-of-seagulls haircut, and the friar grinned to himself as he hurried down the lane.

The world waited for him.


	3. Lamplighting

If anyone reads this I'd so vastly appreciate reviews, it'd be pathetic.

Chapter Three: Lamplighting

_The road is long, the sky is grey_

_I've saved my hope for another day_

Carl wandered the streets of Shropshire with a blithe smile, watching with interest the lamplighters as they went about their business. It was no more than a few minutes from evening, almost seven o'clock. He'd been exploring for two hours, hoping to avoid going to his sister's home for as long as possible.

He stood and observed a young lamplighter. The young man had a thin, sullen face, was concentrating entirely on his job, and didn't particularly appreciate it when Carl started speaking to him.

"Fascinating occupation," the friar said genially. "I myself have always been rather drawn to any profession involving flammable materials."

"Is that why you became a monk, then," said the sour-faced boy disinterestedly.

"Ha! No, I became a friar, because I _am_ a friar, you know, for the— well, I was going to say excitement, but that wasn't the reason in the beginning. Um— dental plan! That was it. Came for the dental plan, stayed for the excitement—" Carl trailed off as he noticed the young man was quickly vacating the vicinity.

For a change, he thought about the excitement.

What stayed with him the most, oddly enough, was, never be the first one to stick your unprotected hand in viscous material.

Don't stare at strangers, no matter how strange they be.

Don't get on Van Helsing's nerves when he's in one of his 'moods' — and despite the serum that was supposed to cure him, the monster hunter must still have werewolf venom running through him, for he certainly gets a little— testy— every full moon.

Werewolves: bad.

Vampires: very bad.

Carl absently rubbed the back on his hand, which bore the only lasting physical sign of his first time in the field— a half-moon scar, where acid had reached him, from the aforementioned viscous material. Out of everything, he was most proud of the fact that he hadn't even noticed the wound until it was all over.

Of course, pride was a sin, too.

Carl wandered absently, in a reverie, taking in the sights of the city. He stared in admiration at the buildings. He stared in delight at the evidence of mankind's genius for inventing, for improving, civilization as he knew it.

He stared in consternation at the undeniably female figure who presently came reeling out of a pub and into his arms.

"Gerroffme!"

"I'm not on _you_, you're on _me_!" Carl said, too taken aback to be polite.

"I'll scream for help," she warned him.

"I'm only trying to _support_ you—'

She pushed him away, but the motion itself set her off-balance so she immediately clutched at him again.

"Are you alright?" Carl exclaimed. He felt a movement against his collarbone that seemed to indicate the woman was shaking her head.

"They threw me out," she said, her voice muffled against Carl's shoulder. Her hands clutched convulsively at Carl's cloak. Carl felt things shift in that area and wished he'd had the presence of mind to wear an undershirt. But it had been so _hot_ starting out—

"Hey," she said, and to Carl's horrified amazement he felt her breath on his bare skin. "What's this?"

"That's mine!" He snatched the coin bag away from her and made sure it was still tied tightly around his neck. "That's all the money I've got!"

"I see." Under the brim of her hat, teeth flashed in a drunken grin. "Buy me a drink, holy man?"

"I'm sorry," Carl snapped, "but I need the money for my own purposes. Now, are you quite able to support yourself or shall I call for a policeman?"

She clutched his cloak again and tipped her head back. Amber eyes peered at him beseechingly. "Don't do that, mister! They'll put me in gaol for certain sure! I don't know what they do with drunks where _you're_ from, but—"

"So you _are _inebriated, then?" said Carl. He was fascinated despite himself. He'd never heard someone admit it so openly before. Even Van Helsing was prone to slurring only, "I cansh hold my likker jus' fine, shtupid monk!" when in his cups.

"Not_ 'inebriated_,'" she corrected him. "Very, very drunk. Yes, I am. I'm sorry."

"Well, I—"

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I've made you partially _en dishabille_—"

"Wonderful," said Carl sourly, "a bilingual drunk woman."

That grin flashed at him again, and now that Carl could see her face and get the full effect of it, it hit him like a cartload of bricks. He felt his knees weaken.

"I'm sorry," she said slowly and deliberately, "would you mind terribly, sir, pointing me in the direction of a handsom cab so I may make my sorry way home?" She released his cloak with one hand and prodded him in the chest with a finger. "If you would be so kind."

Wordlessly Carl turned her about and steered her down the street, one hand on her arm, the other placed gingerly about her waist. She tried not to lean against him more than she could help. Together they located a hansom and he assisted her into it.

Surreptitiously, he went to the front and paid the driver. He'd thought she hadn't noticed, but her voice arrested him in midstep as he walked away.

"Friar!" she called, inadvertently getting it right. Not a lot of people did that. "You are a good man, and a fine man, and a bloody handsome man. Come to me tomorrow and I will reimburse you. My name is Tamerlaine Gentle, and any local cabbie will know where to find me." Her face disappeared from the window, then reappeared again. "Oh, and come after eleven, my headache is usually gone by then." She waved frantically. "Bye bye! Drive on, driver."

The coach rattled into the night and Carl stood in the dark street, mouth agape. The woman's name was one he knew as well as his own, one he'd often thought of over the years.

They'd been playmates, a very, very long time ago. They had loved each other dearly. It was to him she had come when her father died, and then her mother— to him she had come when her older sister announced her engagement to a Russian duke— and—

And he had been the last, the very last, one to talk to her before the doctors and the policemen came and took her away.


	4. Awaken

Chapter Four: Awaken

_In the dark and ancient times_

_There were no reasons and no rhymes_

Carl arrived at his sister's home late that evening, secretly hoping she'd gone to bed. But no, his sister herself opened the door, uttered a matronly noise of apparent delight, and dragged him inside.

"Of course you must hear all the latest news," she said over her shoulder as she sailed in front of him like a ship at full mast, leading the way to the drawing room. "Here, sit here and I'll tell you about _everyone_! Lady Blakeney, you remember her, she was to be re-married this past month, only—"

"Hannah," Carl interrupted, "is there any possibility we could do this over breakfast? I'm very tired. I've been traveling for several days, you know."

His sister stopped still and looked at him in surprise. He didn't blame her. Certainly he'd never dared interrupt her in the old days.

He managed to give her a very weak smile.

"Alright," she said slowly. "If you don't feel like it—"

"I don't," he assured her.

"Well— you know where your room is." Without waiting for him to follow she picked up her skirts and swept from the room. Carl could practically _hear_ her thinking—

_Didn't expect that becoming a man of the cloth would cause the little runt to grow a backbone!_

Carl smiled to himself. She had probably blocked out some of the more embarrasssing memories of their childhood, all the pranks he'd played on her. After all, when he'd left he'd been just eight years old. That was nearly thirty years ago. The thought sobered him, and he grew resentful of the fact that after all this time, his sister didn't ask him a thing about himself, had instead gone directly to gossiping of people he knew nothing about. Obviously she hadn't changed much from twelve to forty. Carl reflected bitterly on this as he trudged up the stairs to his childhood bedroom, accompanied only by his knapsack, and as he undressed, inside with the door closed, alone in the dark.

Everyone in the cavern under the Vatican, except for perhaps Cardinal Jarrett, slept in the alltogether. As a matter of fact, one of Carl's first ideas upon arriving there had been to cut the costs of clothing entirely and just make the place a very holy nudist colony. He thought about this as he lay shivering under the blanket, also taking into consideration his maiden sister and the numerous female maids she would undoubtedly employ. After a few minute thinking all this out to its logical conclusion he got up and hunted through his pack till he located one of the extra-long undershirts he'd brought with him. It wasn't that he was overly modest, but he had no desire to perish of embarrassment.

Enough light came through the window to enable him to study himself in the mirror, and he did so. Not a tall man, he was almost exceptionally thin, and his shoulders hunched a bit, like they'd given up and caved in from some terrible pressure. He noticed this at once through the thin undershirt and straightened up. A respectable five foot ten, he thought. Not at all bad.

His reddish blond hair was mussed from the day's travel— but, he thought as he fiddled with it, it probably looked like that all the time. His ears stuck out a bit. His face— well—

He decided to go to bed.

Halfway asleep, the thought that hadn't been far from his mind that evening finally articulated itself into words.

"She called me handsome," he murmured to himself in the dim room, and his lips curved in a smile.

B.r.e.a.k.

He dreamed.

They stood together under the tree where they'd carved their initials a few years ago. Their country houses were visible in the distance. Her face was pale and her eyes large, the color of gold in the sunlight.

"I'll never forget you," he stammered.

"I know," she replied, and moved forward till her hands were placed flat, palms down on his chest. "I've made sure of that."

She shoved.

They fell to the ground together, laughing at each other. He made no move to get up and she sat on his chest, her hands making their way to his face, caressing his features. She leaned over him and he felt her hands move to his neck— then she kissed him and all else was forgotten.

He felt her grip tighten around his throat. Her hands pressed down, and in, and felt strong as bands of steel, till he could no longer breathe. He had no breath and no will to protest. He died there, the face of the one he loved best watching over him like a guardian angel, and with his last strength his lips formed a name.

"_Tamerlaine_..."

I've never written a romance fic before (apart from slightly, in my novels) but I'm beginning to think this is what it would read like if I did. It's easy, with Carl ('cause Dwenham is hot!) And trust me, Tamerlaine is very pretty. Thanks to the (da-da-da-da!) TWO people who reviewed! HobbitLass and Tracebo, thanks forever! I'm wishin' for encouragement, 'cause I'm not as good at straight fiction as comedy (see "Van Helsing and the Village People" and compare) but this is more challenging to me as a writer (comedy is more enjoyable, though.) And yeah, right now it is Carl-centric, but VH shows up later on, 'cause, y'know, don't want to be accused of favoritism or anything like that....:) (Carl rocks, btw)Anyway, didn't mean to talk your ear off!


	5. Funereal

Chapter Five: Funereal

_The sun is bright; stay in the shade_

_What was once young is doomed to fade_

Carl woke late the next morning. It was nearly nine when he descended the stairs, and he could tell instantly from his sister's disapproving stare that she was not at all happy with him.

"Morning, Hannah," he managed, sinking into a chair at the dining table.

"Breakfast is served promptly at eight thirty-five every morning," she replied frostily. "Your porridge is cold."

"Ah— yes. I'm sorry, Hannah. I was extremely tired."

"Exhaustion is no excuse for sloth," said Hannah imperiously. Carl was on the verge of arguing that exhastion was an excuse for everything, and a fine one too, but he wisely decided to pick his battles and let this one go.

"Soh," he said. "What, erm— what's on the schedule for today?" He tried to decipher the steely gaze he recieved in answer to his question— it took him a moment to realize his faux pas. "Oh, oh, right, er, Mother's funeral service— er— I meant besides that."

Hannah levered herself to her feet and looked dignified. "I am going now to get prepared," she announced. "And I would advise you, Carl Hampton, to do the same." Then she swept off, her grant exit marred only slightly by running up against the doorjamb on the way out.

Carl smiled to himself and gulped some coffee.

B.R.E.A.K.

He'd brought his finest robes for the occasion of his mother's funeral. Of course, he was a poor friar, and in this case 'finest' did not mean 'finest'— it meant 'cleanest' and 'least worn.' He washed his face, arms, and neck, not remembering till then the dream he'd had the night before. When he did remember, he sagged against the washstand and tried to forget.

When a young girl, Tamerlaine had been both exceptionally brilliant and exceptionally strong-willed. Her father had died under mysterious circumstances— her mother had followed him not long after when the building she was in collapsed on her. Tamerlaine Gentle had been brought up by her older sister, with occasional help from her uncle. Things seemed to be moving onto a smoother track when Adelaide, Tam's much older sister, announced her engagement to a member of the Russian aristocracy, and told Tam they would have to go forever to a strange new country.

Carl hadn't been there for this confrontation, and of course news of it was prevented from reaching his ears, but over the years he gathered that Tamerlaine had reacted to the news by throwing a fit in which she invoked the spirits of her parents and threatened physical harm to Adelaide and her fiancee. Afterwards, she rushed from the house, and found Carl waiting for her under the tree which bore their initials, carved there on a long-ago summer afternoon.

That's where the doctors found her, clinging to Carl's arms, came and led her waay, Carl left behind to watch and to cry helpless tears.

The little boy Carl, blue eyes swollen and reddened, face twisted in anguish and grief—

The man Carl snapped back to reality and found himself getting into the carriage next to his sister. After some thought he posed a question which had the twofold advantage of gaining him information, and putting her in a better mood, giving her a chance to gossip.

"So tell me," he began, "you remember our old playmate Tamerlaine Gentle—"

"Oooh, yes," said Hannah immediately, and nodded. "The one got locked up in the looney bin."

"You have sucha delicate way of putting things," said Carl, smiling gently at her. "Yes, her. Did she— did she ever get out?"

"Oh yes, nearly ten years ago now. You know, they thought she perhaps had something to do with the death of her parents, though in the end they decided she was innocent. I don't know, though— there was always something odd about that girl, and the mystery was never entirely settled, to my mind."

"What— Hannah, are you actually suggesting that you suspect someone who was a child of five of doing her parents in?"

"Weeeell—" said Hannah. "You never know, do you?"

"Hannah, her mother died when a building came down around her ears. There's no way anyone could have had anything to do with that!"

"Yes, but her father died under mysterious circumstances! The paper said so!"

Carl took a deep breath and tried to control his voice, which was getting squeaky as I always did when he was upset. "He was strangled, Hannah. Surely even you cannot seriously contend that a tiny girl actually choked a grown man to death."

"Well—" said his sister. "No, I suppose not."

Carl breathed out. "Thank you."

"But there was something odd about the girl, all the same."

Carl sighed. "Yes. There was, at that."

They rode in silence for a minute, then Hannah volunteered, "She became a writer, you know. Quite famous; wrote about what the inside of the crazy house is like, which is exploitation if you ask me."

Carl decided not to ask how, exactly, writing memoirs of your own experiences was exploitation, and instead just made vague, encouraging noises.

"But, I think," she finally went on, "you never know, she may be settling down a bit now." Her tone was supremely doubtful, however, and she pursed her lips and tilted her head sideways.

"Did she— ever get married, or anything like that?" Carl asked hesitantly.

"No, good heavens, who would marry Tamerlaine Gentle, of all people?"

Carl nodded slightly and turned to look out the window. "I think I'll just be quiet now," he said softly.

"Anyway, she'll probably be here today," said Hannah with a sigh. "Likely she thinks she's a friend of the family still. Well, we must do the best we can to disabuse her of that notion." Carl didn't reply and his sister moved on to other subjects. She prattled on till they reached the church where the service was to be held.

Congregated within were hundreds of people whom Carl vaguely recognized, though not enough to put names to them, and the whole effect was to make him extremely uncomfortable. He smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes; he nodded, but people went away feeling slightly snubbed; and the whole time he was searching for a woman he knew, though he wasn't about to admit it to himself.

He was having an argument with his conscience, and his conscience was losing. By rights, Carl thought, I should be mourning my mother. My mother, the woman who brought me into the world with pain and suffering, who raised me— well, technically she raised me, along with the nurserymaids— but his thoughts kept turning away from the passing of his parent, turning back to—

After all, he told himself, regardless of whether the cardinal was right and the dead wre in a better place, or the Bible was right and the dead were asleep, either way his mother was not here and_ she _was.

Tamerlaine never came into sight, and Carl sank into the pew next to Hannah with an undeniable sense of disappointment.

During the service he tried to locate some wonderful memory that involved his mother. he tought of, and rejected, the day he got his dog (his mother had ordered it and him out of the house immediately), his seventh birthday (his mother was ill, and insisted on everyone going to bed at half past four in the afternoon), and the anniversary of his parent's wedding (Carl had been soundly spanked for making a congratulatory bouquet of his mother's prize roses). Finally he gave up on things he himself remembered and thought instead of a picture he'd once seen, of his mother before she was married, when she was young and beautiful and happy. It was beause of this picture only that Carl knew he had inherited her features.

Well. Except for the nose. That came from his father.

Carl smiled to himself and thought of the picture all through the lengthy service,a nd by the end found himself truly mourning the passing of that beautiful, laughing young girl.


	6. Sought

Chapter Six: Sought

_When fire rises at its peak_

_It hides what we most constant seek_

Clods of earth thudded down onto the casket and Carl swallowed and caught his breath. His mother was gone and he felt nothing for her, but was staring fixedly at the young woman across the open grave.

_What is wrong with me? After all this time— after all this time— and my mother is dead. What's wrong with me?_

He shifted and stumbled. Hannah caught his arm and hauled him straight again. He felt her elbow sharp in his ribs, heard her voice in his hear hiss, "What is _wrong _with you?"

"Nothing a glass of wine and a hot bath wouldn't cure," Carl whispered back reassuringly. Hannah, however, did not look reassured. She looked very, very angry.

"This is the _funeral_ of our _mother_, and you're thinking about _yourself_?"

"Actually I was thinking about—" Carl started, then stopped. They'd created something of a disturbance and even the all-but-dead minister was taking an interest.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the— uh— shadow of the— er— um—"

Carl stopped paying attention because Tamerlaine Gentle had noticed him and he was observing her reaction. First her eyes widened in alarm, then a slow, deep red suffused the porcelain of her skin. Her eyes met his and she reached up, very slowly, and pulled her hat down till it covered half her face. All he could see was her lips, which looked a little worried, and chin, which was set and determined. Carl made a heroic attempt at not laughing, and the merriment inside him swelled and turned to choking snorts.

Which created more of a disturbance—

Which threw the minister off again.

"For thou art— are, um— for— um—"

A long, uncomfortable silence filled the air. Then a voice spoke out.

"For thou art with me," said Tamerlaine Gentle.

"Ah, yes," said the minister.

Carl watched her closely but she did not smile. The service went on, but he didn't hear a word of it. Afterwards, Hannah snagged his arm and started a slow, inexorable glide towards the coaches, but Carl detached her fingers and said, "Um," indecisively.

Hannah stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"You say that a lot," pointed out Carl.

"Answer me."

"I'm going to talk to someone, if you don't mind."

"Who?"

"Whom, actually."

"_Who_?"

Carl didn't answer, just slipped away. He could feel her eyes boring holes in the back of his neck, but he kept on despite it. People were milling about in front of him and he gave a series of tight smiles in reponse to sympathetic looks, brushing past everyone, searching for—

There.

There she was, right underneath the hat. He reached her and, before thinking about it, laid a hand on her shoulder. Everyone turned to stare when she shrieked. Carl jumped back a good six inches.

She spun around to face him, her eyes wide. "What is wrong with you?" she hissed.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" exclaimed Carl petulantly.

She opened her mouth to reply, then took a look at everyone around them and changed her mind. She headed for an unoccupied section of the graveyeard, with six or seven large trees providing partial shelter from the rain that was now beginning to fall. Carl watched after her, open-mouthed. He hadn't been so blatantly snubbed and dismissed since he last spoke to Van Helsing, more than a week ago.

But then Tamerlaine, looking bemused, turned around and beckoned towards him.

He hastened towards her, tripping slightly over the hem of his robe, trying desperately not to attract any more attention and failing. A hundred faces watched them disappear under the cover of the trees, including that of his sister, who narrowed her eyes in stern disapproval.

Carl stopped and stared at her, resting his back against a tree. "I thought you'd decided to ignore me."

She shook her head. "No, I— panicked, I guess. No reason, really, I mean, you're a monk, aren't you— not one to go around gossiping about a drunk you saw on the street." She paused. "Am I right?"

"Oh, of course, of course not, why would I do that—"

"Right, that's what I thought." Rain reached them as it fell harder, damping their shoulders. She took her hat off and raised her face to the rain with a slight smile. Carl huddled under his cloak and shook slightly, though it wasn't cold.

"I thought, um— I thought you were coming to my home? You— you're not following me, are you." She looked delighted rather than anything else. "A holy stalker? That's very original."

"No, I'm not, I—"

"But what are you doing here, then? Did you know Mrs. Hampton?"

Carl suddenly realized that she had no idea who he was. He reached up and pushed his cowl back off his head. Rain started to slick his fair hair down, and run down the back of his neck. "Don't I look at all familiar?" he said.

She began to shake her head, then aborted the gesture and stared at him. Her head was tilted to one side, and she leaned further and further back, as though trying to take him in.

"_Carl_?" she said. "Carl? The _Rock_?"

Carl started at the unexpected use of his childhood nickname, smirked involuntarily, and nodded.

"Carl _Hampton_? Carl _my_ Carl?"

He nodded again, and shrugged slightly.

"Oh my—" she breathed in deep. "You became a monk?"

"A friar, at the moment."

"Oh, sorry."

"It's really not that bad."

"No, I mean— no—" She laughed suddenly and rushed forward, took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. "I can't believe this! After all this time— and I didn't even recognize you!"

"That's alright, I didn't recognize you either," Carl admitted.

"We have to talk, don't we?" she said, and to Carl's surprise and delight he heard _hope_ in her voice. "We'll have to talk about our lives? We'll—"

Carl grinned brightly. "We will. We'll do that."

"Alright!"

The crowd slowly departing the graveyard was duly shocked at what appeared to be an extremely passionate embrace between a lady of somewhat dubious repute and a friar who'd just buried his mother.


	7. Remonstrances

Chapter Seven: Remonstrances

_Live in the moment, my child, hold on_

_Blink just but once and the world is gone_

Teatime was the most uncomfortable half hour Carl had ever spent. He watched Hannah, still dressed in musty black satin, as she went about pouring the tea, scraping a very thin layer of butter onto a thick slice of bread, ignoring the cakes the butler had set out. He didn't blame her for this, the cakes looked rather desolate. But the sour face she turned on him, the stiff, stilted amnner in which she responded to his awkward chatter— these he took some slight offense at, and felt justified in doing so, for they seemed calculated to offend.

"The weather's been very unpredictable," he said angrily. As usual when he was around Hannah, his emotions were muffled by a healthy does of awe and exasperation, like a thick blanket of dust, and so instead of actually sounding angry he sounded as though the wather were an uncooperative child, a child who belonged to someone else so he didn't dare yell at it. "One would think we'd had quite enough rain, but no— "

His sister stared at him with obvious distaste. "I must say, I admire your coolness, Carl Edward Mayne Hampton."

"My—"

"Coolness. Yes. I'm amazed that you can sit there at my table calmly consuming everything in sight—"

Carl guiltily put the remaining half of a desolate cake back on his plate and swallowed.

"— and your behavior at Mother's funeral was absolutely disgraceful!"

"Why?" asked Carl, stung. "What did I do?"

"Everyone could tell you felt no real grief for the woman, your mind was wandering constantly throughout the service."

"Well, I—"

"And all the men and women who knew you as a small boy, who came to express their sorrow at your loss, you ignored them!"

"I didn't recognize most of them, Hannah."

"And poor Miss Hawkins! My best friend, comes to speak to you and gets soundly snubbed!"

"Well, I—" said Carl again, and paused. "Wait a moment. Hawkins, did you say? Penny Hawkins?"

"Yes!"

"The Penny Hawkins?"

"Yes?"

"And she wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes!"

"She used to pull my hair in school," said Carl dismissively, taking another bite of ecake.

"What— Carl, that was years ago!"

"It hurt," said Carl calmly.

"Surely you can't still hold a grudge over some childish fooling around."

"She even punched me once."

"Carl Hampton—" said Hannah warningly.

"Punched me. Right here." Carl patted his chin reflectively. "Took me four days to fully recover from t hat one."

"Carl Edward Mayne Hampton—"

"No, no, if ever a woman hated me, it was Penny Hawkins. I don't believe she'd ever want to exchange a civil word with me. Or I with her, for that matter."

His sister had gone dead silent, and he calmly observed the dislike in her eyes before saying, "May I have some more tea?"

She ignored this, too. "And what of your friend," she said slowly, every word dripping with acid. "The only one you did speak to and you— behaved yourself very improperly."

"Oh, that? Not to worry, sister, it was only Miss Gentle, and old friends are allowed to embrace one another in a friendly manner, are they not?"

She stood up slowly, her hand clenching on the handle of the ornate teapot.Carl watched it and knew somehow that if it hadn't been a family heirloom it'd be flying at his head right now. Thank heavens, he thought, for family heirlooms.

"You were disporting yourself in that ridiculous manner with Tamerlaine Gentle?"

Carl considered the pros and cons of lying at this point, along with the fact that he wasn't actually allowed to do that, and said, "No, I wasn't."

"You just said you were."

"Oh, that's right. Then yes, I was."

Sisterly strangulation would have been a certaintly if it weren't for the timely intervention of the butler, who arrived and said stiffly, "A gentleman to see you, ma'am."

Hannah paused, hand still on the teapot. She narrowed her eyes at Soapes and all three of her chins quivered. "A gentleman? Who?"

"He would not give his name, ma'am."

"Well, what does he look like?"

The butler, who appeared to be perfectly used to being asked this question, answered readily, "Oh, you won't mind the intrusion, ma'am."

"I won't?"

"No, not at all."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, madam."

"Well then," she said warmly, stood and edged her way out of the chair. "Excuse me, brother."

Carl said, "Why, did you sneeze?" somewhat automatically. Hannah swept out the door and all was silence for a few minutes. Carl clinked his silverware rhythmically against his plate, then began to design Van Helsing's new weapon, using the pristine white tablecloth as a drawing board.

He'd gotten quickly immersed in it when the banging of doors sounded, causing his protuberant ears to perk up. He lifted his head and looked intently at the door.

A voice rang out, one familiar to him of old: "I asked for Mr. Hampton! I can understand you making a mistake, but the Mr. Hampton I'm looking for is about a hundred pounds lighter and slightly less obnoxious!"

Carl heard the fainter sounds of his sister's remonstrances, and grinned slightly to himself. No indeed, if the caller_ had_ been a gentleman, she wouldn't have minded. Gabriel Van Helsing was decidedly easy on the eyes.


	8. Arrival

Heeeeeeeeeeeeere's Van Helsing!

Chapter Eight: Arrival

_The road has been so long and rough_

_I have not seen life long enough_

Carl got to his feet, forgetting his ink-stained fingers and the even more ink-stained tablecloth. As Van Helsing burst into the room, he found his smaller friend ready and waiting, a welcoming smile on his lips, and his hand stretched out for a shake.

"Carl!" boomed Van Helsing. "Tell your disturbingly friendly sister to give me my hat back!"

"What for?" asked Carl, staring at him. "That's a very interesting haircut. I never dreamed you had sideburns."

Van Helsing glared at him and Carl wilted slightly. It _was,_ if nothing else, an interesting haircut. The shaved half was growing back, and the rest had been trimmed to match it. It stuck up in front, an inch and a half off his forehead, and the dull black of it seemed to absorb all light without giving any back.

"Hannah, please give nice Mr. Van Helsing his hat back."

"It's not polite to wear a hat into a gentlewoman's home," sniffed his sister from somewhere in the hall behind the muscular bulk that was Van Helsing.

"Nor is it polite to rip it off his head and then scream at the scars." The bandages, Carl saw, had finally come off, but Van Helsing's burns still stood out alarmingly on his forehead and temples. He didn't look embarrassed about it, but neither did he look entirely happy. He strode past Carl into the room and seated himself at the table. Carl followed, and Hannah fluttered around, as much as a large woman can flutter.

"T-teatime is o-over," she said. Her voice was high-pitched and worried.

"Have some cake," invited Carl.

"Thank you, I think I will."

"What are you doing here?"

"Did Jinette not tell you I was coming?"

"They tell me nothing," said Carl darkly. "Generally I am left to find things out for myself."

"Ah." Van Helsing shrugged. "I am come to assist you in the retrieval of the needed materials for my proposed new weapon."

"To assist me in—" Carl stared at him somewhat indignantly. "You mean you sent _yourself_, didn't you? The Order had nothing to do with it! You just don't trust me to get your toy home in one piece!"

"Actually, that's what I'm concerned about. It comes in its component parts— suppose you got bored on the journey homewards and decided to put it together?"

"Suppose I did?"

"And suppose you decided to test it out on the spot?"

"Which I never would," said Carl immediately.

"Of course not. But suppose you did."

"Well?"

"Well, I'd want to be there, wouldn't I?"

Carl dropped his indignant pout and broke into a wide smile, which Van Helsing quickly mirrored.

"So we're to go and get the objects tomorrow, yes?"

"Er— could we talk about this sometime when my sister is not present?" suggested Carl. Van Helsing looked from him to Hannah, said, "Oh, right," and stood up. He placed an arm around Hannah's shoulders, and guided her wordlessly to the door. Hannah, equally wordless in her amazement at his daring, docilely allowed him to do so. At the threshold Van Helsing let her go and said, quite kindly, "I'll let you do the rest on your own."

Hannah looked at him, opened and closed her mouth a few times, and stepped from the room. Van Helsing quietly closed the door and Carl stared at him in amazement.

"How did you manage that? I'd like to learn."

"Well, she should have known she wasn't wanted," said Van Helsing, sitting down again.

"I'm just surprised you didn't take her all the way out the door and close it in her face."

"Of course not," his companion replied, settling himself and reaching for another cake. "That would be rude."

Carl smiled and began to relax. Of course Van Helsing was here for a purpose— he never did anything without a purpose— but all was well if he came just to oversee the purchase of the axitonne and the other materials.

"Are you sure we cannot go and get it tonight?" Van Helsing was clearly eager to do so.

"Tonight—" Carl felt a slight blush appear on his face. He leaned forward with his chin in his hands trying to disguise it. "Tonight I have a visitor coming. An old friend, from my childhood."

"Oh yes?" Van Helsing noted the blush, which had escaped the reach of Carl's fingers and climbed to the bridge of his nose, his temples, and upwards, not at all hampered by his hairline. "And who would this be?"

"A lady by the name of Tamerlaine Gentle."

"Ah—" said Van Helsing, in an entirely too knowing tone of voice. Carl's blush turned redder.

He said, almost angrily, "She was a childhood playmate. I have not seen her since I was nearly nine years old, and she was six."

"Aha," said Van Helsing. "Then why are you blushing?"

"Anyone would blush the way you were speaking! That— suggestive tone—"

"I haven't seen you like blush like that since I found out about the Transylvanian barmaid."

Carl's eyes lit with anger and embarrassment. "I told you never to mention that!"

"Amazing," his companion murmured, and shook his head. "How do you manage to retain your place in the Order, Carl, with all these lovers scattered across the earth? Are you blackmailing the Cardinal?" His voice was now jesting.

Carl stared at the tabletop, his cheeks still flaming.

"And so you haven't had a chance yet to fully renew your acquaintance with this woman?"

"Well, I only just saw her this afternoon—"

Van Helsing laughed, and Carl realized that he sounded as if he was making excuses. Which was ridiculous, as he had nothing to make excuses for. He sighed. "She's coming to talk with me this evening. To catch up."

"Is this girl pretty, Carl?"

Carl looked at Van Helsing and was clearly confused. Certainly in his eyes Tamerlaine was a thing of beauty, but he was a man who'd spent most of his life in the Vatican, and had no idea how she would appear to his more worldly friend's eyes.

"I don't know," he said finally.

"Well," said Van Helsing, "I suppose I'll get a chance to find out, won't I?"

But he didn't, not that night.

Tamerlaine never appeared.

And the next morning, papers were full of the news—

_Woman's Body Found in East River_


	9. Reality

Chapter Nine: Reality

_No-one was ever so sure of their world_

_The earth's ending coming on the tide_

Carl did not read the paper. He was up late the next morning after spending the night talking to Van Helsing, and was greeted by a cold hard stare from his sister.

"Morning, Hannah."

Hannah cleared her throat pointedly and rattled the papers.

"Where is Mr. Van Helsing?"

"In the kitchen," said Hannah frostily, "interrogating the cook."

Carl regretfully left his eggs and coffee and found his way to the kitchen, where the skinniest woman he'd ever seen was laughing at Van Helsing.

"What?" said Van Helsing, brow furrowed savagely. "What did I say that was so humourous?"

"Nothing," she giggled. "It's just— your hair–"

Van Helsing reached for his head and scowled.

"Morning," said Carl, cheerfully.

"Morning, Mr. Hampton," said the woman, curtseying.

"Morning, Matilde. What are you after, Van Helsing?"

"I was just trying to get the cook here," said Van Helsing irately, gesturing at Matilde, "to make me something edible."

"Matilde? She's not the cook."

Van Helsing glared at him as though he'd turned traitor. "She's not?"

"Dear me, no. Have you ever in your life seen a thin cook?"

Van Helsing considered for a minute before admitting that, no, he never had. The cooks of his acquaintance tended to be roughly spherical and extremely ungainly.

"The cook is in there," said Carl, indicating the pantry. "And if it's the same one it used to be, she fits the profile accurately."

The pantry door was open and snores were emanating from it. Van Helsing and Carl edged around till they could see inside.

"Yes," said Carl, "same one."

"Good Lord," breathed Van Helsing. "She looks like she _ate _your sister!"

Carl laughed before he could stop himself, and the cook awoke and heaved herself to her feet. It was like watching a mountain begin a leisurely stroll.

"Did you want something?" The voice was even deeper than Van Helsing's, extremely menacing, and she showed no sign of recognizing Carl.

"Yes," said Van Helsing. "I wanted to complement you on your culinary technique and achievements and inquire as to whether you'll be opening a restaurant in the vicinity anytime soon?"

The moutain turned its head from side to side, looking from the tall dark man to the short pale man to the sallow, skinny woman over in the corner still smirking at Van Helsing's hair. "Matilde," she rumbled, "who are these two and what are they doing in my kitchen?"

"They're Mr. Hampton, the son of the house," explained Matilde, "and Mr. Van Helsing, a guest of Mr. Hampton."

Carl smiled nervously at the cook and Van Helsing swept her an exaggerated bow.

"Mr. Hampton?" she boomed. "_Little_ Mr. Hampton?"

Carl's nervous smile stayed put and he began to back away, but suddenly and without warning he found himself engulfed in a strong and matronly embrace. Through the blood pounding in his ears he could hear Van Helsing laughing.

B.r.e.a.k.

"Well, I'm glad we finally got that sorted," said Carl, running a hand over his hair to make sure it was still there."

"It was an adventure," Van Helsing agreed, sitting down next to him and picking up a fork. "But at least now maybe we'll get some decent food. Anyone who eats enough to maintain such a bulk has to be a good cook."

Hannah cleared her throat loudly and rattled her paper.

"Don't worry, sister, we didn't disturb the help," said Carl placatingly.

"Much," said Van Helsing, and they both snickered.

Hannah snorted and rattled the paper louder. Carl ignored this, but Van Helsing looked over and stopped still.

"May I see that, Mrs. Hampton?" he said, and while she was busy spluttering, "_Miss!_" he plucked it out of her hands. He read for a few minutes, heavy brow savagely furrowed in concentration. Carl looked up from his plate and watched him, a cold worry stealing into his heart.

"What is it, Van Helsing?"

The monster hunter looked up at him slowly. "They've recovered a body from the river," he said, his dark voice unaccustomedly gentle. "They think it is your friend."

B.r.e.a.k.

"Suicide," squeaked Carl sometime later. "No. Not Tamerlaine Gentle, she'd never commit suicide. "

Van Helsing was trying to reason with him, and having a hard time of it. "But they—"

"I don't believe it, I tell you. She— there wasn't such wickedness in her, such disregard for the gift of life. Anyway they say right there '_Identity unknown_.' They only suspect it might be Ta— might be _her_." Carl stopped pacing and folded his arms. "Why only suspect, anyway? Why wouldn't they _know_?"

"She— the body had— come into contact with several boats in the water. It was— rather a mess."

Carl felt a sick lurching in his stomach and he glared at Van Helsing. "You don't have to be so considerate of my feelings. I know the death of innocents means nothing ot you, merely an everyday occurrence."

"You've seen death, too, Carl," Van Helsing reminded him wearily.

"Yes, but only one was innocent!" Carl shot back. The two men stood and were quiet at the abrupt reminder of the tragic events of the year past. Van Helsing made a soft noise, like he was in pain, and Carl immediately regretted alluding to the incident.

"Will you come with me?" he said, his angry tone replaced by a conciliatory one.

"To where?"

"To the vaults of the morgue." Carl shrugged helplessly at the stare Van Helsing turned on him. "I can't help it, Van Helsing. I have to know for myself. And after all, I was one of the last to see her— I don't expect you to understand, but come with me anyway."

"I do understand," said Van Helsing hollowly, hunching his shoulders and letting a hand drift over the area where some of his largest scars were covered by clothing. They ached on cold mornings such as this. "And I will come with you, if you wish me to."


	10. Death

Chapter Ten: Death

_Give it a moment, say, 'Wait until,'_

_You'll find it waiting there, the heart will abide_

The morgue was bustling, oddly enough. Besides the staff, several policemen were standing around, taking what Carl thought to be a morbid interest in proceedings. He found his way through them, assisted in part by Van Helsing, who towered over everyone there, and located the head undertaker.

Much arguing ensued.

"But I know the girl! I saw her just yesterday afternoon and I'd be the one to identify her!"

The undertaker folded his arms defiantly.

"More so than her brother?"

"Yes, more so than—" Carl stopped as he realized what had just been said. He frowned. "She hasn't got a brother."

"She hasn't?"

"No, she hasn't!" Carl stopped. "At least— I don't _remember_ her having one."

"Well, I guess the gentleman was lying, then, when he said his name was Simon Gentle and Tamerlaine Gentle was his sister, what lived with him, and had done for nigh on ten years." The undertaker's voice was very sarcastic, and Carl glared at him and opened his mouth to retaliate when Van Helsing stepped in.

"Listen, man, we've been sent here to view the body, and I'd recommend you let us view it right quick."

"Why should I?" barked the undertaker. "Who sent you?"

Without even a glance at the attendant policeman, who were after all focusing on something else at the moment, Van Helsing procured his Tojo blades from the pockets in his sleeves and held them, whirring dimly, towards the man. The unfortunate undertaker's head was forced back in order to keep his throat from being sliced into, so he looked up into vengeful dark eyes and a face shrouded in secrecy. "The Vatican," he was told.

A minute later, Carl and Van Helsing were following him through the dark halls.

"I hate undertakers," said Van Helsing in a low growl.

"I'm sure they're just doing their job," said Carl, unconvinced.

"Remember the last one we met?"

Carl didn't, for a second, but then a white, skull-like face floated up out of his memory and scared him rather badly. "Oh, yes."

"Thought so."

"I hate undertakers, too."

"Thought so," Van Helsing repeated smugly.

The undertaker led them to a small, grey, cold room. Lying on the slab was the body of a woman, uncovered except for a sheet. The undertaker folded the sheet back and Carl tried not to start crying immediately.

She was obviously young, and rather on the thin side. Her face was turned away from them so they could not see the damage that had been done, but her thick, long, wheat-colored hair was clearly visible and very familiar and for a moment Carl felt that he himself would die. He tried to bring his breathing under control, looking down at the body of the unfortunate woman— and his gaze fell on her throat, pure and white and—

Completely lacking of a large scar that Tamerlaine Gentle had in the curve of her neck, below her chin. He'd forgotten that detail from when they were children, but as she stood with her arms around him the night they'd met as adults, her head tilted back, laughing, he'd seen it and remembered.

"_What is that from?" he asked, nearly thirty years ago._

_She removed the bandage and left it on the ground. The wound stood out red on her pale skin. "An act of penitence," she said, and smiled with faraway eyes._

Now, so many years later, her words were faded and inaudible, and he couldn't quite recall if she had said _penitence_ or _punishment_.

Regardless, it was not her. He relaxed and heaved a sigh of relief, standing up a bit straighter as he said, "It is alright, it is not—"

"That's her," said a voice immediately behind him. "I'd know her anywhere." The owner of the voice, moderately handsome except for a crooked jaw and somewhere in the vicinity of thirty years old, swept past Carl and over to the body. Tenderly he reached out, took hold of the chin, and turned the face towards him. Carl quickly averted his eyes, making himself turn all the way around so his back was to the scene, but he could still hear the man's voice.

"Yes, it's her." The voice was full of regret. "My poor Tamerlaine. My only family in the world, except for my uncle."

Carl spun around and took a good look at the man. He had turned his head away from the body, sorrow apparently filling his blue eyes, but he looked up and his eyes met Carl's. There was definite malice in his gaze.

"You're her brother?"

"Yes. May I ask who you are, sir?"

"I'm Carl Hampton. I am a friend of hers, from her childhood."

"You _were_ a friend of hers," corrected Simon Gentle.

Carl bristled. "I hope I still am, sir!"

The man regarded him coolly. "Yes, of course."

"I don't remember her having a brother, I must say."

"Oh, really?" said Simon Gentle, arching an eyebrow. "Well, truth be told, I wasn't around much. I'm a bit of an embarrassment to the family, you see. I'm sure I don't need to go into that."

Carl shrugged.

"But several years ago when my sister was released from the asylum, my uncle refused to have her in the house, and our older sister had of course passed away— so I stepped in like a good prodigal brother and offered to take care of her." Simon gave a slight smile. "And so I have."

"But that's not her," said Carl.

"I beg your pardon," said Simon, his voice turning frosty. "Are you implying that I don't know my own sister?"

"No, I—" Carl stopped as he looked at Simon Gentle. Clearly, he thought, the man _knew_ it wasn't Tamerlaine, and was saying it was despite that. Suspicion flared in his mind. He closed his mouth, backed up and stood next to Van Helsing, who looked at him curiously.

"What's going on?"

"Let's leave," said Carl tightly, and turned away.

Behind him, the sad, mocking voice of Simon Gentle said, "Good morning, Mr. Hampton."


	11. Heroics

Chapter Eleven: Heroics

_Don't push too far, who knows what will_

_Come out if you do not believe_

Carl walked into the sunlight and shivered after the coldness of the vaults.

"Well," said Van Helsing, following after him, "I hate to say it, but you're well out of that, my friend. Usually in cases of this kind its best not to have any kind of recognized connection with the deceased."

Carl stared at him. "How can you _say_ that?"

Van Helsing was rather taken aback by this question, which was not one he would have expected. "Er—"

"You don't _believe_ them, do you?"

This took Van Helsing aback even more. "Um—"

"You _do_." Carl sighed and threw his hands in the air. "Well, that just about takes the cake. _How_ can you believe them?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Tamerlaine Gentle is not dead."

Van Helsing swiveled around to look at the building they'd just exited from. It was, indeed, the mortuary, just as he'd thought.

"That poor soul in there," Carl went on, "is not Tamerlaine Gentle."

"But her brother identified her!"

"And for that matter, I don't believe that man is her brother. And that is why I think it was murder."

"Why?" growled Van Helsing, completely off track and not liking it.

"A woman of the same basic age, stature, and composition, with hair and form alike, dies, and somehow her face is unrecognizeable? Entirely too convenient."

"For whom?"

"For Them."

"Them who?"

"I don't know," said Carl aggrieved. He hadn't really thought that far. "Look, do I ask you these questions when _you're_ on the trail of the beast? Just _Them_."

"Carl—" said Van Helsing, taking the friar's arm and turning him to face him. "Carl, you're in denial."

"No I'm not!"

"Look, if that man wasn't her brother—"

"He isn't," said Carl positively.

"I say _if_ he _wasn't_— where does he get the audacity to come and identify the body as if he were?"

"Because," said Carl rapidly, "he's counting on one of the basic traits of human nature— the tendency to believe whatever they are told, to trust in everyone. This tendency shows in even the best and brightest and most worthy of men, including, for some odd reason, you, Van Helsing, and more often than not can lead men to their downfall. Humans believe what they want to believe, it's a simple fact. If you can get someone to _want_ to believe what _you_ want them to believe, you've got it absolutely made. This man, this Simon whoever, came in and stated with absolute certainty that he was the brother of Tamerlaine Gentle, and people _believed_ that he was indeed the brother of Tamerlaine Gentle, because he _said_ he was, and because they needed someone to identify the body. For myself, the complete lack of familial resemblance was an immediate warning sign, but no one else there really knows what she looks like. And its my impression, though you may agree or disagree at any time, that for a brother of Tamerlaine Gentle, or indeed for a man who simply may have been living with her for ten years under false pretences, for him not to mention the sudden apparent disappearnce of the scar which the _real_ Tamerlaine Gentle has on her th-throat, seems to me to be either incompetence, idiocy, or sheer unadulterated malice aforethought. Which in turn leads one to surmise that, though there are definite signs of bad taste evident in this man, no idiocy is apparent, and though incompetence is almost _certainly_ a byword of the man's very existence, it doesn't really fit in with this particular scenario; which perforce leads one to that final attribute which I have previously mentioned, ie. malice aforethought. This _in turn _points me to the final conclusion— I've forgotten what the final conclusion was. Oh yes. I remember. The final conclusion, all matters being heard and attended to, is that this man Simon is A: An imposter, B: Not Tamerlaine's brother, and last but not least C: Guilty of malice aforethought for some ultimate purpose which at the moment remains hidden from me. Furthermore the body in there was murdered, the body is not Tamerlaine Gentle, and Tamerlaine is _not_, is _not_, is _not_, _cannot_ be dead." Carl stopped at long last, breathing hard with the effort of his soliloquy and the force of his emotions. _If she's not dead where is she? She's not dead. Where is she?_

"Well," said Van Helsing, who was still staring at him as he had been throughout his recitation, "What do you propose to do about it?"

"I don't know," said Carl.

"You don't _know_? Come on, Carl, you're the plan man."

"Well, you're the action man," said Carl waspishly, "so why don't you rush back in there and arrest Simon Gentle for impersonating a nonexistant being?"

"I can't do that."

"Why not? Why can't you? He's in there now and he knows full well that Tamerlaine never _had_ a brother—"

"Please," begged Van Helsing, "lets not go through the litany again? My ears ache."

Carl subsided, against his will.

"Look, I'm sorry about the whole situation, honestly I am," said Van Helsing placatingly. "But you can't just attack the character and reputation of someone you've never met. You said yourself you haven't seen this woman since you were young. How are you to know what changes have taken place in her life since then?"

"But the scar—"

"Scars fade," said Van Helsing with finality.

"_Yours _don't," said Carl, more harshly than he'd intended. At the look Van Helsing gave him, he hurried on, "And anyway, they do_ not_ fade in two night's time."

Van helsing was shaking his head and turning away. "I'm going to find something to eat. There are restaurants in Shropshire, aren't there? I'm going to find one."

Carl seated himself on one of the stone benches and clasped his hands in his lap.

"Aren't you coming?"

"No."

"Carl— don't sulk. A grown man shouldn't sulk."

"I'm not sulking," said Carl shrilly. "I am merely going to sit here and rest a while before I go home."

Van Helsing sighed deeply. "Would you like me to stay with you?"

"Good lord, no!"

"Fine. Be that way. I'll see you later." Van Helsing marched off, obviously irritated. Carl watched him and reflected. _I probably shouldn't have mentioned his scars_.

Once Van Helsing was out of sight, Carl leapt to his feet and hurriedly concealed himself behind the hedge that lined the board pathway leading to the main doors of the morgue.

Too late, he remembered that they were meant to be collecting the axitonne and other materials that afternoon, for Van Helsing's weapon. Well, he was sorry to disappoint Van Helsing, but he had more urgent business to attend to.

Crouched behind the hedge, he watched the entrance to the tall building. He reflected for a while on how roles seemed to be switched— Van Helsing was urging him to think things through and not rush into something, and here Carl was— well— about to rush into something. Soon his thoughts turned to Tamerlaine Gentle and his breathing quickened.

The door opened and Simon Gentle emerged. Carl felt himself go tense.

He came out from the hedge several hundred feet behind Simon and began the difficult work of following him. Passers-by stared at the spectacle of a young man in brown friar's robes following another young man in a top hat— thankfully none of them bothered to comment on it.

Simon Gentle trailed around London for nearly an hour— at the end of it Carl's nerves were worn dangerously thin and he felt ready to give up. Only the thought of Tamerlaine, out there somewhere waiting for him, kept him going. Eventually, however, all tortures must come to an end, and Simon hopped in a hansom cab.

Carl uttered a barely-audible squeak of alarm, rushed forward and sat on the ledge at the back of the coach. His legs swung free of the ground and he was extremely uncomfortable as there wasn't really anything he could decently get a grip on. But, he thought with some satisfaction, at least Simon couldn't get away from him now.

Passers-by stared at the spectacle of a smallish friar hitching a free ride on an unsuspecing hansom.

The cab drove on and Carl tried to take detailed note of his surroundings. His head was beginning to swim when it pulled up in front of a very large house, three storeys high, with a faux turret and a Gothic look. Carl leapt off and raced at high speed to hide behind a tree before Simon or the driver realized he was there.

From behind the tree, Carl watched as Simon went into the house, being enthusiastically greeted by the butler as though he had not been seen for some time. _Aha_, thought Carl, _not his house, then._

He darted forward and trotted around the back of the house, looking for a window he could climb in, and not finding one. They were all latched on the inside. Finally he stood back and stared at the house, and a mad surety became clear in his mind— _if she's anywhere_, he thought, _she'll be in the turret. _

He approached the jutting stone wall and began to climb.

There were no passers-by to gape at the spectacle of a smallish friar advancing slowly up a stone turret, emitting a series of nervous squeaks, at intervals punctuated by ineffectual, unpracticed cursing.

Carl achieved the window high on the turret wall and pulled himself up, holding onto the broad sill, gasping at the pain in his arms. This, he thought, was not covered in the Vatican's sparse training. Sitting on the sill he paused and caught his breath, surveying the room below him before he jumped down, looking, he thought, before he leapt. Looking—

For once, being right wasn't much of a comfort. The body of Tamerlaine Gentle lay in a corner, and was very still.


	12. CoOperation

Chapter 12: Co-Operation

_You may be left to stand empty-handed_

_With only one emotion: grief_

Carl dropped heavily to his feet and fell over. It was nearly twelve feet from the windowsill to the floor, and he knew as soon as he jumped that he should have waited, to try and figure out a plan of escape.

Well— nothing he could do about it now.

He stumbled to his feet, wincing at the pain in his ankles, and went rapidly to Tamerlaine, falling to his knees at her side. Very carefully, he rolled her over on her back and felt frantically for a heartbeat.

Tamerlaine opened her eyes and began to scream. Carl yelped and cut her off, clapping his hand over her mouth. For a few seconds they were tense and still, Carl crouched closely over her, their eyes locked. Carl strained for any sign that the noise had been heard by the other inhabitants of the house, but the only sounds that reached his ears were the sound of his own breathing, his heartbeat, and the barely audible sound of Tamerlaine's. He could feel it through his fingertips and he cast a suprised glance at her chest.

She seemed to take it the wrong way.

Tamerlaine reached up and peeled his hand away from her face.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I've come to save you," he whispered back.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I followed your brother."

"My— oh. Simon."

"Yes." Carl looked at her keenly. "Is he not your brother, then?"

"Um—" Tamerlaine shoved herself up to lean against the wall. "Can we go into that later? It's a complicated situation."

"Oh, alright. Er— can you stand?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to."

"What—" Carl stared at her in consternation. "We've got to get you out of here!"

"No."

"But Tam—"

"Mr. Hampton," she said sternly, "I am staying here for the time being, and I have my own reasons, which I do not feel obliged to explain to you just at the moment. Do you understand?"

"No," said Carl honestly. "Though I don't suppose it matters. To tell you the truth, Miss Gentle, I'm somewhat taken aback by your refusal to comply with my directions in a rescue situation such as this. One might almost assume that when one is a female being held prisoner at the top of a fair-to-middling tall tower by one's insane brother, and a heroic young friar risks life and health to rescue one, one might show some signs of gratitude and do one's best to co-operate instead of treating said friar's offers of help as though they were a— fish, or some— er— other unuseful object."

Tamerlaine smiled at him. "Oh, Carl— you have not changed." She put her arms about his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Continue so." Then she let him go and looked serious. "Are we at the top of a tower?"

"We are," said Carl, slightly dazed by her proximity. "I climbed up it."

"Can you climb back down it?"

"Theoretically—" Carl started.

"Then do so." Tamerlaine leaned back. "I'm going to stay here and do my best to figure out what's going on."

"But Miss Gentle—"

"Tamerlaine. Please."

"Tamerlaine, I'm not going to leave without you."

"But you have to, dearest, because I'm not coming."

"Then I'm not leaving without a plan to save you."

"Fine. Come up with a plan."

"Well," said Carl, somewhat upset, "its all very well to say 'Come up with a plan' but my mind doesn't work like that—"

"Doesn't it? It used to."

"Alright," said Carl thoughtfully. "Here's what we'll do. I'll go and get Van Helsing—"

"Who is Van Helsing?"

"A monster hunter of my acquaintance." Carl looked at Tam's expression. "It's a very long story—"

"Then save it for later. Go on."

"I'll go and get him, you stay here and try to figure out whatever it is you're truying to figure out." Carl looked at her hopefully but she smiled and shook her head.

"I'll let you know."

"Alright. Then Van Helsing and I, we'll come and free you."

"How exactly?"

"Well— he's got guns, and the Tojo blades—"

Tam shook her head. "I don't know from Tojo blades, but you'd need more than a gun to frighten these men, if my suspicion is correct and they are who I think they are."

"Right, right—" Carl thought deeply and the light dawned. "No problem. I've got it."

"Got— what?"

"Van Helsing is in town to assist me in picking up materials for a new weapon I'm creating to aid in his fight."

Tamerlaine tipped her head to one side and lookd at him quizzically. "And your friend also lives at the Vatican?"

"Well— yes— but we can go into that at a later date." Carl quickly told her about the weapon, including what it was intended to do.

Tamerlaine's eyes widened. "It collapses buildings?"

"It can, yes. Sort of."

"Like— dynamite?" she asked curiously.

"Sort of," he repeated.

"Like— like how sort of?"

"I'm not sure," said Carl, then hastened to explain when he saw her expression. "I have the blueprints at my sister's home, most of them anyway. I know theoretically how it works but the intricate mechanisms haven't exactly been burnt on to my brain."

"Oh," she said. "But you're sure it'll work?"

Carl thought of experiments, past and present, and of his average success rate. "Reasonably sure," he said truthfully.

"Alright." A smile passed over Tamerlaine's pale face. "That's alright, then. You do that."

"Right." Carl remained seated, gazing at her.

"Carl?"

"Yes?"

"Do it now, please."

"Oh— oh, right. Of course— um—" Carl scrambled to his feet and stood looking down at her. "I— I don't want to leave w-without you," he said. _Stammering_. He hadn't stammered like that since he was a choirboy. Well, that and when Van Helsing got angry at him.

Her eyes were fond. "Listen, Mr. Hampton, you'll be coming back to get me, won't you? I'll be here, I promise. If, of course, they don't move me somewhere else. But I'll _try _to be here. I'll wait for you." She reached up and took his hand— her palm was cool and dry and tiny, her fingers tense in his. "Go now, Carl," she said softly.

He released her hand and ran to the wall, a sudden and real worry dawning on him— _what if I can't make it back up to the window? _A quick glance back at Tamerlaine reassured him. With her watching, he felt, he could do anything.

He reached up to find protruding stones, and he began to climb.


	13. Comfort

Hey everybody! Keep the reviews flowing, please! I'll probably be concentrating more on this fic now that "Van Helsing and the Village People" is at long last finished (I never intended it to go past ten chapters, and it ended at 22! Wow.) Guess what I did? Or attempted to do, anyway. I sent the link to "VH and the Village People" to the Dwenham's agent... so Dwen could read it if he wants.... go right ahead and call me insane, everybody else does. Anyway, at long last I saw VH again! Watch it with the commentaries by Richard Roxburgh and the others, its HILARIOUS!

Chapter 13: Comfort

_We humans do what e'er we must_

_We fail and do not hold our trust_

Van Helsing, veteran of a thousand wars, warrior against evil, oftentimes thought possessed of the Devil, champion of lost causes, and with a tendency to rush into drastically dangerous situations without listening to what his friend the friar said, was learning what it meant to be truly uncomfortable. He was eating afternoon tea with Hannah Hampton, and learning compassion for Carl at the same time. He was frustrated at every conversational turn.

"Lovely weather—"

"If you call this lovely, I have serious doubts as to your ability to discern night from day. I call this downright gloomy."

"You have a beautiful home—"

"Left to me by my parents when they died. Carl may have mentioned it, though it's doubtful— my mother passed away just a few weeks ago. This is a house of mourning and I'll thank you to remember it and not wear such flashy clothing from now on."

Van Helsing glanced down at himself. Black shirt, black coat, black trousers, black boots, black socks, black, if it came to that, underthings— or at least stained a dirty brown. His bemusement must have shown on his face, because Hanna waved an explanatory hand delicately towards his waist. Van Helsing looked slowly down and, even more slowly, up.

"A belt-buckle," he said, slowly. "A silver belt buckle."

"I've never seen the like," sniffed Hannah. "And on top of that your haircut is most immodest."

"Immodest," repeated Van Helsing, in a modified roar. "How can one have an _immodest_ haircut?"

"I know I, for one, did not think it possible, but you have managed it. By some determined effort to be ungentlemanly to as many people as possible, I suppose."

"It was your younger brother," said Van Helsing lividly, "who was responsible for the hair situation in the first place. And furthermore, if some blasted _witch_ of an old bat hadn't insisted on me not wearing my hat inside, you wouldn't see it at all!"

"Amazing," Hannah huffed on, unperturbed by his outburst, "that to the common observer I must apear to be housing some worldly hooligan, instead of someone who _claims_ to reside in the Vatican!"

"I _do _reside in the Vatican!"

"And I can only imagine what you do there," said the demon Hannah, sweetly, plumping fat elbows onto the table and leaning chins in hand. "Are you employed as a ratcatcher, perhaps?"

The sudden appearance of Carl was timely in a manner of speaking, because it prevented Van Helsing from strangling his sister with his bare hands, and untimely in a manner of speaking because, well, it kept Van Helsing from strangling his sister with his bare hands. Whatever the verdict, Carl burst into the room with his hair slicked to his head, and his sodden and muddied robes trailing on the floor. "Good lord!" he cried, "a fire at last!"

"Carl!" said Hannah, her eyes wide and face shocked. "You're dripping all over the floor!"

"Brandy," beseeched Carl. Van Helsing tipped something into a cup and presented it to him. Carl drank the cup dry, gulped a few times, then said, "That's _wine_!"

"I'm sorry," said Van Helsing kindly, "but you kow how your sister is about evil spirits."

"Carl!" his sister said. "You're _dripping_ all over the_ floor_!"

Van Helsing poured some more wine into the cup and pressed it into Carl's trembling hand. "What happened, my friend?"

Carl stared at him, wild-eyed. "What happened?" he cried. "What _happened_? I fell off the sodding _tower _is what _happened_!"

B.R.E.A.K.

Some time later, Carl and Van Helsing sat before the fire in Carl's room. Carl had stripped off his robes but, not having extras with him, or indeed at all, had consented to borrowing trousers and a shirt from Van Helsing. The clothes hung on him rather a lot; though Carl cinched the belt as tight as he could, he couldn't do anything about the extra four inches at the ankles.

"It's funny," he said tiredly, "but you never quite realize the differences in human stature till you wear another man's clothes."

"That's right Carl," said Van Helsing tolerantly. Carl had told him all, and he was mulling it over in his mind. "What did she hope to find out from her captors?"

"I don't know," said Carl. "Unless perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the man Simon was apparently one of them— or in on the scheme. And he's not her brother.

"No?"

"No," said Carl definitely. "She told me he wasn't."

"Then he was lying about everything."

"Not— everything," Carl said slowly. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to open this line of conversation up. "She— she told me, when first we met a few days ago, to ask a cabbie where she lived, that they would know. So I— I asked a cabbie." Carl looked miserable. "This man had been living with T— with her for ten years. Since she got out of the asylum."

"Oh." Van Helsing was quiet. Then he said, "You think _you've_ had a bad afternoon—"

"Well—" Carl stared at him. "Yes, I rather think I have."

"Ah, but you weren't forced to have tea with your sister."

"What— Van Helsing, I—"

"She complained. Absolutely nonstop. I've met demons less deadly than her. She makes Dracula look positively benign."

"Well, yes," Carl admitted, "she does, rather."

"I can't believe how painful she is to listen to. I'd rather put a cigar out in my eye than sit through that again."

"Well, she's had a lot of practice."

"I cannot believe," Van Helsing went on in a tone of cold fury, "that someone who looks as innocently large as your sister can be so evil."

"Oh, Hannah, well— you'd be surprised," said Carl. "Making people feel like they want to throw themselves from extremely high windows is all in a day's work for _Hannah_. Look, Van Helsing—" He leant forward. "You're changing the subject on purpose. What are you not telling me?"

"Well—" Van Helsing avoided meeting his friend's eyes. "Are you— _quite_ sure she's a prisoner, Carl?"

Shock and outrage registered plainly on Carl's open countenance. "_What_," he said deliberately, "aren't you _telling_ me, Van Helsing?"

Van Helsing leaned back, lifting his head and staring at the flames. His dark hazel eyes narrowed and he said, as though reciting a learned speech, "A total of twelve bodies were found this morning; most had been in positions of power while alive. Two were on local council, one was in Parliament, three were local politicians, one was the wife of a politician, three were the head members of the police force, one was a prominent clergyman, and one was the child of a politician. They were gathered at the instigation of Sir Edward Gentle, Tamerlaine's uncle. Evidence was found at the scene of the crime— leading the police to believe that Tamerlaine Gentle murdered them and then committed suicide herself. There were three eyewitnesses who placed Tamerlaine Gentle at the scene, and her— mental record is of course well-known to the authorities. Now," said Van Helsing placatingly, somewhat worried at the expression on Carl's face and the fact that he didn't seem to be breathing, "now can you see that it looks a little suspicious to me that your Tamerlaine, when given an opportunity to escape, should choose to remain in captivity? Can you not see that there is a possibility that, having done the things she did and wishing to escape punishment for them, she might also create a decoy in order to lure people into thinking she is dead, before going into hiding herself? And this man Simon, whoever he is, could easily be persuaded to pose as her brother and identify the body, if he truly—" He stopped.

"Loves her," said Carl bleakly. "Yes, I see what you mean. A man would do a great many things for love."

The expression in Carl's eyes was so faraway that Van Helsing feared somewhat for the friar's sanity.

"I am not saying that I am right absolutely," he said hurriedly. "I'm only saying, let us be careful where we tread. I can't think that the Vatican would be very happy with us for liberating a mass murderer."

Carl was very quiet for a long time.

Then he said, "Ah, but don't you see? It does not matter. It does not matter what they want, or what you want, or what I want—"

No matter what Van Helsing said after that, Carl wouldn't speak. He retreated into himself and appeared to be thinking harder than he'd ever thought before. Van Helsing wasn't sure if this was good or bad.

In reality Carl wasn't thinking so much as feeling. Emotions flooded his brain to the point that he sat still in his chair, staring fixedly at the fire as the play of the flames cast odd shadows and lights over his face. He sat for a long time and did not move.

At long last he raised his eyes and said, "My friend—"

Van Helsing looked at him attentively.

"I think— I have— a plan."


	14. Conversation

Chapter 14:Conversation

_We must not go too far, too high_

_We've lost our wings, we cannot fly_

Van Helsing stared at him for such a long time, Carl grew exceedingly twitchy.

"Stop staring at me!" he demanded finally, and Van Helsing blinked slowly and shook his head.

"That's your plan?"

"Yes it is. What of it?"

Van Helsing shook his head some more.

"Will you stop doing that? Why do you always respond negatively to everything?"

"I only respond negatively to things," said Van Helsing heavily, "that are so obviously asinine that even I fear for your sanity. You cannot threaten some unknown man with a weapon powerful enough to bring down the building. Especially if you do not know for certain that it works."

"Of course it'll work," said Carl immediately.

"On what past example of first-time success do you base that judgement?"

"Stop pontificating, Van Helsing, I know what you mean!" Carl thought madely. "Look, I know that it'll work. Theoretically. It'll be a big bang and all over. But— we could try it out."

"Try it out," repeated Van Helsing. "On what? Some poor unsuspecting building down the street?

Carl was quiet for a minute, then said curiously, "What were you going to use it for, anyway?"

"Scouts located a town in the far hills of Scotland," said Van Helsing, sounding as though he were reading from a script. "It had been sqaushed flat, all of it. Following some footprints of truly frightening proportion, they were able to locate an enormous cave from which snoring sounds were coming. Frightened for their lives, they rushed back to civilization and sent the Vatican a message, telling me to get ready to take down something truly huge."

Carl's mind boggled. "A giant?" he asked.

"No," said Van Helsing calmly, "an enormous."

B.R.E.A.K.

"I don't see why you insist on doing everything your way."

"I don't. Usually we do things your way. It's just that, this time, your way is— well, it isn't practical." Van Helsing thought about it, and added, "At all."

"But I still don't see—"

"It doesn't matter what you see, Carl. Just stay in here till I get back with the axitonne and other things. Then we'll talk."

"Why don't I like the sound of that? Van Helsing, when you say 'Talk' you mean 'go home without doing anything,' don't you?"

Van Helsing gave him a look and shut the door.

Carl sighed deeply and wandered into the withdrawing room, where Hannah sat passively pushing a needle through a piece of cloth. Carl looked around him. Every flat surface in the room was covered by a piece of his sister's needlepoint. One of the givens for large unmarried women in their forties, he recalled, was that they be extremely good and extremely productive with their needle and thread.

The thought depressed him, and he started to sink into an uncomfortably overstuffed armchair. His descent was arrested by a shriek from Hannah.

"Don't sit there!"

"Why not?"

"The cat!"

Carl stood all the way up and turned around. A large white cat glared at him with baleful green eyes.

"Terribly sorry," Carl told it, and moved to the sofa.

There followed a period of silence that was about as comfortable as a mallard who's wanderd accidentally into a Duck-Hater's Anonymous meeting. Then Hannah abruptly dropped her needlework into her lap and said, with a sob apparent in her voice, "Brother—"

"Yes?" said Carl, innocently.

"Oh, Brother—"

"What is it?"

She sniffed mightily and wiped her eyes. "I think I'm in love with your friend Mr. Van Helsing."

It was the first time in several hours that Tamerlaine Gentle was knocked entirely from Carl's thoughts, and it was due to shock, surprise, and, ultimately, amusement.

He began to laugh.


	15. Haunted

Hey loyal readers! I haven't gotten any reviews on this in the longest time and I'm beginning to go into a depression. Help, please?

To anticipate some people's reaction to this chapter: the italics halfway through are Van Helsing's thoughts. I'm starting to get into his head. Remember that everything is subjective, and put into words only through people's perceptions. What Van Helsing thinks or what he saw may not be true. Now that I've mystified you all, read on. And hit the little button that says "Review!"

Chapter Fifteen:Haunted

_When around me danger waits with bloody claws_

_When around me life is no longer true_

Van Helsing, having failed utterly to find a hansom cab, walked to the home of Doctor Kernock, expecting to find a slight, elderly man of the general "mad scientist" description. Instead he found, once he had located the house and was admitted inside, a brawny young man of about thirty, with a good-naturedly homely face and a winning smile.

He stared blankly though pleasantly at Van Helsing. "I'm sorry, sir, but do I know you?"

"I am Gabriel Van Helsing, a resident of the Vatican in Rome. I'm a friend of Carl Hampton's, whom I believe you know, and it is on his behalf that I am here."

"Ah yes." The man's face relaxed into a beaming smile. "How is our good friar these days? Blown anything up recently?"

"You know about his— mishaps?"

"Oh yes. Mr. Hampton and I have corresponded for a number of years, and he always tells me of his inventions— and their consequences. Rarely are they his fault of course."

"They were _all_ his fault," said Van Helsing darkly. Carl's experiments and their results struck too closely for him to appreciate the gentle sarcasm of Dr. Kernock's statement.

"He told me about a rather amusing invention of his that—"

"I'd rather not talk about it," said Van Helsing abruptly.

"Ah, then you know the gadget to which I am referring?"

"I can guess," said Van Helsing, "but no. Its just that anything which Carl found amusing is guaranteed to have been dangerous and possibly fatal to at least four other people. And often, I was one of the four."

"Ah," said Dr. Kernock knowingly. Then, suddenly, "You must be the friend that Carl wrote about, in his letters."

"The friend?" Van Helsing repeated.

"Yes. He never named you, but you were mentioned occasionally, as coming or going on some quest, or other."

"Yes, that'd be me." It was a safe bet. It wasn't as if any of the other members of the Order left the Vatican. Especially not on "quests."

"He mentions you more frequently in the past year. He said he was worried about you."

Van Helsing had a retort to this firmly in mind, and then thought better of it. Instead he asked carefully, "Did he say why?"

"Yes, he said— you had suffered a— a bereavement, fairly recently?"

Bereavement, Van Helsing thought, was putting it diplomatically. He nodded wordlessly and fought against falling into his memories.

_Life is fragile. You don't realize how fragile until you feel bones break beneath the weight of your own body._

_Love isn't the dominating emotion. Oh yes, there was love still in Anna's eyes. But over and above that was the fear. Fear of him, Van Helsing. Fear of death. Fear of the death that he was bringing to her swiftly._

"_Van Helsing—"_

"Mr. Van Helsing?" The doctor's worried voice snapped him back to reality. He glanced up at Dr. Kernock and tried to shake the feel of the remembrance off him. Something still felt wrong.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Yes— fine. Er—" Van Helsing pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closed his eyes, seeking to dispel the faint, confused voices in his head. "Doctor Kernock, I'm sorry to curtail our conversation, I don't mean to be rude, but I must get home. Carl is wating for my return. He sent me here to collect the axitonne and other materials which you had prepared for his project."

The blank look on the doctor's face gave Van Helsing a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"But—" stammered the doctor, "surely you would have it by now. The man said he was going directly to the Hampton home."

"What man?"

"The man who came to pick up the materials! Er— let me think—" Kernock closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow. "I can't remember his name— smallish chap, brown hair. A slightly crooked jaw."

The voices sharpened, became clearer, louder. Van Helsing gritted his teeth as they pounded at his head. _Something is very wrong._

Suddenly the doctor's brow cleared. He opened his eyes and looked straight at Van Helsing.

"Gentle," he said. "The man's name was Gentle."

B.R.E.A.K

The hansom cabs were conspiring against Van Helsing still. He waved frantically at a few of them, but they passed on. Looking down the street, he percieved one of them pulling over for a much more nicely dressed man who began mincingly to ascend, slowly and regally.

Van Helsing ran. He didn't think he'd ever run that hard in his life.

As the man tottered on the step in thin, high-heeled boots, Van Helsing reached him. Without a moment's hesitation, Van Helsing shoved him aside, scrambled up into the cab, and slammed the door.

The cab driver said, "Hey, there! You can't—"

"I can," said Van Helsing shortly. "Drive on."

"Look, mister, I'm not going to—"

A pistol cocked, very close to his ear. "Drive on," said Van Helsing, with deceptive calmness, "and not slowly either."

_Something's wrong._

When they reached Hannah's house, Van Helsing leapt out with the carriage still moving.

"Hey, mister—"

"Stay here, I will pay you in a minute."

"Look mister, that's against policy—"

Van Helsing pointed the pistol at him again. The driver looked at it.

"Not worth my time," he said distantly. "Consider it on the house." Then he clucked to the horses and moved on.

Van Helsing raced up the steps and into the house, slamming the door behind him and tracking mud on the floors.

"Carl!" he boomed. "Carl, where are you?"

No one answered him, and he rushed through the rooms, finally locating the frightened, trussed-up figure of Hannah.

He released the gag and began to undo the knots. "Where's Carl?" he demanded.

"He— he's—" Hannah spluttered, gulping for air. Van Helsing took her by the shoulders and shook her.

"_Where?_" he shouted.

"He's — ow— he's _gone_! Th— they took him! _He's gone_!"

The voices all crowded around in Van Helsing's head and shouted at him.

_Something's wrong! Everything's wrong! Where'd he go? Something's missing! Why would anyone kidnap a friar? I'm so confused. What I need is a plan! I need a plan to get Carl, and in order to make a plan, I need Carl. Carl's the plan man. Something's missing! Something's wrong here, something's missing, something's wrong wrong wrong—_

He didn't realize what it was till later, after several hours of fussing and worrying and plan-making and plan-abandoning and searching. When he did, he sat bolt upright and, quite out of the blue, said—

"Where's the tablecloth?"


	16. Pain

Chapter Sixteen: Pain

_That I should take comfort in the one beside me_

_That I should turn to you_

Faint sounds filtered through to Carl before anything else. Muffled, they sounded like ghosts and phantoms carrying on conversation, debating, Carl thought muzzily, over what to do with his mortal body. He was sure he was dead.

Then pain broke upon him and he changed his mind. If dead people were allowed to feel this badly, then God wasn't playing by the rules— and Carl was quite sure that wasn't the case.

He must be alive.

The voices— were they real? Or imagined? He heard the growling as if of beasts, far too close for comfort, and the murmuring of devils.

He opened his eyes.

The world was black.

There was no light and he could not see.

Carl bit back a yelp of alarm, but could not stop himself from an involuntary movement. It was slight, but whoever was out there took note, and gave a low, evil chuclkle.

"The young man is awake—"

"I see that."

"Would you like to do the honors?"

"Thank you, no." The second voice was higher, and somewhat familiar, but in Carl's half- conscious state he couldn't identify it. "Can't we tell him what is going on? He must be confused."

They were silent for a moment, and then the first voice spoke, apparently acquiescing to the younger man's request. "Mr. Hampton," it began, and Carl moved slightly, surprised at the sound of his own name, "we have certain knowledge of an idea of yours— some sort of drastic— weapon, shall we call it? Certainly from the looks of the blueprints we have recovered, it is a device capable of great destruction. May I ask what you are building it for?"

Carl began to answer, but his throat was parched as a desert and creaked alarmingly before he managed a slightly defiant, "Ask all you like, but I don't see why I should tell you."

There was another pause, then the owner of the voice chuckled deeply and slowly. The sound made the hairs on the back of Carl's neck stand up. He strained his eyes, trying somehow to see through the weave of the blanket that covered his upper body.

"A head-strong one, I see," said the voice. "One would expect nothing less from a man who Tamerlaine Gentle calls a friend."

Carl stiffened. "Where is she? What have you done with her?"

"Relax, Mr. Hampton. You are speaking in time-honored cliches, a sign that you are truly worried, I suppose. You'll soon see her. In the meantime I have a proposition to put to you— concerning this invention of yours—"

Carl swallowed. "What is it that you want from me?"

B.R.E.A.K.

Van Helsing paced the floor, his mind working as fast as it ould.

Who would take Carl?

Why would anyone steal a friar?

Maybe they didn't know he was a friar. He'd been dressed in Van Helsing's ordinary clothes instead of his robes. Van Helsing thought, absurdly, that he wanted his extra trousers back.

_What did that have to do with anything?_

Hannah watched him as he stomped back and forth, muttering angrily to himself._ My brother is missing. Good heavens, Mr. Vasn Helsing is angry— he looks so instense when he's upset, so very— I wonder if he'd permit me to call him Gabriel? Or even— Gabe— ? No, no, that would never do— But perhaps— _

The voices in Van Helsing's head would not be quiet. They were jumbled, talking over themselves, confusing him. Then one arose over the cacphony— a feminine, quiet, heavily accented voice.

"_Think, Gabriel, think."_

The voices gradually took up the cry.

"_Think, Gabriel! Think!"_

He thought.

He thought he remembered—

"Mr. Van Helsing—" said Hannah tentatively.

"Quiet," said Van Helsing, in tones that invited no appeal. "I'm having a flashback."

_Why would anyone steal a friar and a tablecloth?_

_He arrived at the Hampton house. The butler looked him over in a way he did not like, then went to inform Hannah; who appeared, automatically simpering at the sight of him, storming him with inportunities, exclaiming over his hat, screaming at his haircut, and generally making a nuisance of herself. He found his way to the dining room and threw the door open— _

_Carl had already risen to meet him, face flushed and gleaming with the pleasure of seeing his friend so unexpectedly, one hand out for him to shake— his fingers were black with inkstains— _

—_as was the tablecloth— _

Van Helsing's eyes snapped open and he shouted wordlessly, excitedly; an unlooked-for side-benefit of this was that it startled Hannah so badly she dropped her cup of tea in her lap.

B.R.E.A.K

Carl had his eyes wide open, trying again to see through the cloth. "You must be joking," he said, horrified.

The deep voice laughed once more. "I never joke. I take it this is your initial refusal to comply?"

"Initial, and final. My reaction to what you suggest will not change."

"You say that now—" said the voice slowly. "But I will keep asking. I do not stop till I get what I want. Ever."

Carl bit his lip. The voice had turned menacing, threatening. Of the other voice, the one that perhaps might hold either pity or mercy, he heard nothing.

"And every time you refuse to do as I ask," the voice went on, "you'll regret it a little more."

When the pain in his leg, just below his knee, started, Carl couldn't stop a cry from escaping his lips. The voice chuckled as if at some deep pleasure, and the pain increased.

Carl twisted his body awkwardly, seeking escape or relief, but none came until, finally, he passed into unconsciousness, and a warm, welcoming dark.


	17. Photograph

Re: reviews— Thanks, Katter! Glad to see you're sticking with me!

Thanks RogueCajunOzsgrl— glad to see you're gettin' with it... :)

sorry if I'm obfuscating, Sirinial! I'll try to clarify things soon... Van Helsing's just kind of carrying Anna around with him, like a guardian angel almost— she's become the voice of his conscience, if that's not too trite a way of putting it.

And don't worry— trust me, Hannah's not got a chance! :)

Well, actually— you'll have to wait and see about that, won't you?

I found an incredibly hot pic of the Dwenham and now its up on the back of my door— my parents are beginning to wonder why I spend so much time in my room staring at my door— also my brother lent me a CD which has the song "Return to Oz" on it (by the Scissor Sisters) and of course that reminds me of every hot Aussie I've ever seen. I listen to it all the time and wish I had been born in Australia.

Chapter Seventeen: Photograph

_The air is cold, my body tense_

_The way I feel does not make sense_

Van Helsing sat still and tried to compose his thoughts, to form a plan of action.

Carl had been kidnapped— and so had the blueprints for his weapon, including the ones on the tablecloth.

The materials likewise had been stolen.

Therefore, whoever had accumulated all these things had some overridingly keen interest in Carl's weapon.

_Brilliant deduction, Gabriel._

The voice inside his head was that of Anna, laughing at him. Well, it was easy to laugh from her position. If there was any knowledge after death it must be total and utter. Anna would know everything.

_That being said_, he thought, _why don't you help me out a little—?_

Nothing answered him and he knew with an engulfing wave of sorrow that there was nothing to reply. He was alone with his thoughts. And Hannah, he added mentally, but she was asleep.

_Sssnnnrrrkkd._

And snoring.

Van Helsing allowed her rhythmic noise-making to set a time and tempo to his thoughts.

— Carl is gone and I must find him.

_Snnnrrkd._

— Whoever took him must be planning to build—

_Snnrrkk._

—the weapon— that's not good.

_Snnrrrkkkdd (burp)._

— I have to stop it— but how? How—

_Snnrrkd._

—do I find him? Well— it must have—

_Snnnnnnnrkd._

—something to do with that Simon Gen—

_Sssssssssnnrrrggg._

—tle— and Carl's lady, by extension.

_SnnnnrrRRRR!_

— This is a very serious matter and I must not let myself be distracted.

_SSSNNRRRRRGH!_

Van Helsing couldn't help himself. He picked up one of the throw pillows that carpeted every flat, stationary surface and hurled it at Hannah. It struck her full in the face, knocking her spectacles askew and bringing her awake with a start, but by that time Van Helsing was already out of the room.

He reseated himself in the dining room and stared at the dark wood of the table.

This Simon Gentle was undoubtedly mixed up in it. There was no question about that. And this Tamerlaine? Carl's Tamerlaine?

There was the fact that she claimed to be innocent. There was the fact that Carl located her locked in the tower. There was the fact that friendly, unassuming Carl was actually one of the most astute judges of character that Van Helsing had ever met.

Especially where women were concerned.

"_You like her, don't you? Hmmph. Don't deny it. I know how you get."_

_Van Helsing gave the little friar an indulgent smile. "How would you know how I get? You've never been on assignment with me."_

"_Are you forgetting London?"_

"_There were no ladies in London. Forgive me— there were no _particular _ladies in London."_

"_There was the one in the shop—"_

"_What one in what shop?"_

"_When we went to fit me for a corset."_

"_Oh, _that_ one in the shop. She fancied _you_, Carl, not me."_

"_Oh?" said the friar, looking pleased. "Do you really think so? Well, I— look, don't change the subject, we were talking about you here. Now, do you admire this woman or not?"_

_Van Helsing looked down at Anna's slumbering form. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes— in many ways, I admire her very much."_

"_There, you see?" said Carl with a self-satisfied smile. "I knew it. She's got to you. Quick work, too, we've only been here two hours." Like Van Helsing, he looked down at Anna. "She must be good," he said, almost wistfully. "Anyone who can fight so long for such a noble cause must be truly good— don't you think?"_

And then, Van Helsing thought with a sigh, there were the counts against. Tamerlaine had refused to escape her captors when given the chance. She was undoubtedly a peculiar woman— and of course there was the little matter of all those murders—

For Carl's sake, Van Helsing would have liked to believe her innocent. But Carl's needs, he was afraid, fell second to justice—

_Could_ she be innocent? Call it a frame-up— someone wanted to kill all those people and needed a scapegoat. She was, of course, a natural— a goodly part of her life spent in an asylum— all her family dead but her reclusive, disapproving uncle and this supposed brother—

This brother.

This Simon So-Called-Gentle.

He was the only accessible link to the chain— the only thread Van Helsing could grasp.

Perhaps if he pulled hard enough the whole plot would unravel.

B.R.E.A.K

The home of Tamerlaine was modest and well-kept. Van Helsing was admitted by a tall, saturnine butler named, unfortunately, Groines.

Van Helsing, well-schooled in the art of impassiveness, didn't blink an eye.

He was conducted into a small drawing room and waited a few minutes alone. He took off his hat and twisted it in his hands. There was a familiar, unsettled feel to the room— perhaps due to the fact that it belonged to a former insane-asylum inmate.

He found himself wondering about Carl's lady. He realized that, though he'd already formed a strong impression of her personality, he didn't even know what she looked like.

There were photographs on the mantel.

He approached and looked at them curiously. Posed carefully, the woman in one photograph had pale skin and a round, serious face. She stared at the camera with dark, grave eyes. Her hair was piled ont op of her head, her dress a light color, he couldn't tell what exactly from the sepia tones. The man standing at her side and slightly behind her was Simon Gentle, his hair cut short and carefully combed, his body clothed in a dusty black suit. Van Helsingstudied it and found himself curiously unable to form a concrete opinion of Tamerlaine's looks— her expression was so serious, so unmoveable—

The next picture, however, wasn't formally posed. Instead, the photographer had caught Tamerlaine laughing, a wide smile displacing the gravity of her expression, her face happy, and one dimple apparent on her right cheek. There, Van Helsing thought, she was indeed lovely.

Off to one side stood Simon Gentle, her supposed brother, looking at the laughing young woman with a peculiar expression.

No brother, Van Helsing knew, should ever look like that at his sister.

His eyes returned to the first picture and he saw something he did not like. Simon's hand, placed protectively on Tamerlaine's shoulder— her hand, lying in her lap—

"Find anything interesting?" queried a voice behind him. Van Helsing turned around quite, quite slowly.

"Yes," he said levelly, "and my friend Mr. Hampton is, I'm afraid, going to be most unhappy."


	18. Dreamt

Remember to review and tell me what you think!

Chapter 18: Dreamt

_I dreamed that once I was loosed free_

_Don't touch me, do not look at me_

Carl dreamt some rather odd things; he dreamed he was talking with Sarai, a Transylvanian barmaid of his acquaintance; he dreamed of Anna Valerious, who, two inches taller than he in her high-heeled boots, bent and kissed his face. Even in his dream he immediately felt guilty— especially when Van Helsing showed up, arm in arm with Hannah.

"It's alright," said Van Helsing easily. "You can have Anna, dear friar of mine. She always thought you were rather attractive, anyway."

"But—"

"And at any rate, I've found the love of my life," Van Helsing went on, indicating Hannah, who blushed, smiled, and said happily, "Carl, we've decided to adopt you. Isn't that wonderful?"

Carl stared at them for a moment, then leaned back and shouted at the sky,

"NO IT IS _NOT_!"

"You must be having a terrible dream," said a voice.

Carl opened his eyes and found himself looking up into a face, upside down. "Oh, its you."

"It is," Tamerlaine agreed. "At least, it was, the last time I looked."

"Am I dead?"

"I don't think so."

"But you're not sure."

"I am rarely, if ever, sure on any subject, Mr. Hampton."

"Why must you call me that?"

She smiled and didn't reply, only patted his cheek fondly. "Who's Sarai?" she inquired.

"A— a friend of mine."

"In Rome?"

"In, er, Transylvania."

"Mm. What's her last name?"

"Er—" Carl thought frantically and drew a complete blank. "I don't know."

"Hmm. I suppose you weren't too intimate with her, then." She scrutinized Carl's face. "Why are you blushing?"

"Er— I'm not."

"As you like," said Tamerlaine Gentle with the air of someone who knows they're right but doesn't wish to argue. Carl remembered that air from when they were children. Coming fom a child of six, it had sounded precocious. From a woman of thirty-something, it was endearing. "And who, then, is Anna?"

Carl's slight smile faded. "Did I speak of Anna?"

"You did, in no uncertain terms."

Carl crossed his legs, leant his elbow on his knee and his chin on his heand. This was a comfortable position which he favored but was unable to assume, normally, because whilst wearing robes it was rendered indecent. He'd forgotten till now that he was wearing borrowed trousers. He took comfort in them, while noticing that he didn't have a lot of feeling in his leg. He decided to ignore this. Mentioning it to Tamerlaine would only worry her.

"Anna," he began, "is— was— a friend of mine. More than a friend to Van Helsing. He was in love with her, I think."

"Were you?"

"Was _I_ in love with Anna? No— not in love. I admired her a great deal. I admire any woman who can run as fast as a man in three inch heels." Tamerlaine laughed. "And she certainly knew how to handle herself."

"The way you speak of her, she certainly did," agreed Tamerlaine. "And so did your friend woo her, the traditional way, or was it the other way around?"

"He kissed her," exclaimed Carl rapturously, "right in front of me and that abomination of a creature called Igor. I'll have to tell you about Igor, he assaulted me with lightening on a stick. But Van Helsing, Van Helsing _grabbed_ her," he demonstrated, "and _pulled_ her to him, and _kissed_ her— for about ten minutes."

"Oooh," said Tamerlaine, her eyes bright. "And did she faint?"

"No, she ran off with me."

Tamerlaine clapped her hands and said, "Bravo, Anna!"

"We went and had some interesting conversations on the properties of viscous materials, and were rudely interrupted by a vampire. That's how I got this." Carl rolled back his sleeve and displayed his scar. Tamerlaine made appreciative noises.

"I'll bet Anna wished she had stayed with your friend."

"Possibly," Carl admitted, "though she was casting some fairly languishing glances at me during our part of the adventure."

"I'll bet she was." Tamerlaine laughed. "It's a shame you're a monk, Carl, you have it in you to be one of the greatest romance writers of this century."

Carl sobered, gradually. "Well— it was very sad, you know."

Tam's mood matched his. "How did she die?" she asked quietly.

Carl considered the various forms the answer to this could take. "It was a mistake," he said finally. "A terrible, tragic, awful mistake."

"Oh," said Tamerlaine. "Oh, I know about those."

For a little while they were quiet, then Carl said, "Tam— our conversation since I awoke has been dedicatedly frivolous. Won't you tell me what's going on?"

Tamerlaine pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "I thought you liked being frivolous."

"I do. Your kind of frivolous. But I'm, I must admit, a little worried about the fact that I appear to be held captive by some madman with," Carl remembered, "certain violent tendencies. Who is he, Tamerlaine?"

Tam was very quiet, as though thinking very hard.

Finally, she spoke.

"He is my uncle," she said.


	19. Force

Carl the Seer: Dear readers: Thanks for the reviews, please don't fret, and above all be patient! Thank you.

Felix the Random Hobbit: (nods) Wow that was deep.

Carl the Seer: (shrugs modestly) Its what I do.

Chapter Nineteen:Force

_No one follows me around_

_Up the hill and then back down_

"Sit down, Mr. Van Helsing. Can I offer you a drink?"

"No, thank you, it's a little early for me."

Simon's smile tightened. "It's never too early for me."

"As you like," Van Helsing replied. The situation was making him uneasy, to say the least— once seated he found it hard to keep himself from fidgeting, and there seemed to be some sort of circus going on inside his head. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the intrusion of the voices.

_Don't trust him. What's wrong with you? Why aren't you looking for Carl? Don't be polite. Rush at him, demand— Mind your manners._

The last was Anna, her voice cool and deliberate.

_Don't do anything stupid, Van Helsing._

_Well, I'll try not to._

"So," said Simon, "you were with my Tamerlaine's friar friend. I remember you."

"Well you might, it was only this morning."

_Easy, Van Helsing— _

"Yes— funny, isn't it— so much time seems to have passed."

"Were you at home when I came?" Van Helsing demanded suddenly.

Simon's smile turned fixed. "No, I'm sorry to say. Had I been I would have joined you sooner. Had you come but ten minutes later I would have greeted you at the door."

"Mm— out running errands, were you?"

"Forgive me, Mr. Van Helsing, but this questioning seems a little— pointed, shall we say? Is there a reason underlying it?"

Van Helsing looked him in the eye and they had a brief staring contest. Then Simon flicked his blue gaze away, cloaking his defeat in a tilted head and a nonchalant expression.

"May I ask," he said lazily, "what you're doing in town? I understand you hail from quite some ways away."

"Rome, actually."

"Ah, Rome."

"I'm— we're here on holiday. Mr. Hampton wished to visit his sister, Miss Hampton."

"Ah," said Simon. To Van Helsing's regret, his face showed no signs of having recently encountered and subsequently tied up Hannah. Van Helsing racked his brain but was unable to come up with a more pointed remark— at least, not one that wouldn't give everything away.

_Hello, are you the man that tied up Hannah Hampton? I'd like to shake your hand._

"And so your friend had forgotten that my sister lived here? He had no intention of meeting with her?"

"I wouldn't say he'd forgotten," said Van Helsing slowly. To his mind came images of Carl speaking of a girl he'd known while young, though he'd never named her—

"_Beautiful," Carl said with faraway eyes. "Hair like gold, eyes like amber, lips like— well, like lips, really. What did you expect?"_

"_Carl," said Van Helsing, biting back a laugh, "you'd best find yourself a new profession, you're far too poetic to be a friar."_

"As a matter of fact, I don't believe your sister has ever been far from Carl's mind."

The eyes of both men turned to the portrait on the mantel, but while Simon's gaze lingered on Tamerlaine's face, Van Helsing's returned to scrutinize Simon's expressioon. He found there something he'd not been expecting to see— love.

He spoke more brusquely than he'd intended. "I'm sorry for the loss of Tamerlaine, Mr.— Gentle, is it?"

Simon looked at him and laughed.

"Why, there you have suspected the secret," he said. "Tamerlaine and I do indeed have different fathers. Our mother played false, you see, to Tam's father. The age-old story. I was sent from Mr. Gentle's sight— bundled off to a cold boarding school for bad food and a worse education. Amazing how things happen, isn't it? You'd think the whole thing had been my fault."

Van Helsing didn't like Simon's knowing look— he didn't like his falsely injured tones— and he didn't like the fact that he was being lied to. In one fast movement he was out of his chair and across the room— by the time the smaller man had stood up he was pinned against the wall, Van helsing's hands at his throat, and flashing hazel eyes boring into him.

"I don't like your face," Van Helsing gritted out, "and I don't like your lies. I don't know who you are or what you've done to my friend— but _I want him back_— do you hear me? I can't make you tell me where he is— but I _can_ make you regret _not_. Which shall it be?"

Simon swallowed, with some difficulty, and pried one of Van Helsing's hands loose. Van Helsing held tighter with the other, but when Simon spoke his voice was suprisingly calm.

"I have a loyalty which you cannot understand," he said clearly, "and when I do the right thing it will not be on your account."

Blue eyes stared into hazel ones.

Deeep within himself, Van Helsing was both surprised and a little disconcerted to find another man with a will the equal of his own.


	20. Apology

Gosh, didn't realize the story was getting to people that much! Sorry if I'm frustratin' you with the mystery, I have this unfortunate tendency as a writer to obfuscate, complicate, and generally make my readers miserable. I'm not real good at keeping things simple... like you couldn't tell. :) Anyhoo. What does everyone think of Tamerlaine? Not that it matters 'cause she's gonna be in it anyway, but still... thanks for the reviews! Sorry I keep leaving you hanging, Sirinial, but Van Helsing's in it a lot more coming up, and who doesn't want to see that little pipsqueak Simon get his comeuppance, huh? Also, romance alert for this chapter... I just couldn't leave well enough alone, could I?

Chapter Twenty: Apology

_I turn to you in deepest night_

_To make the darkness take to flight_

"We're going to be here for a while," said Tamerlaine Gentle, shifting till she lay on her back. "You may as well be comfortable."

"Comfort is not an option, I'm afraid," groaned Carl, sinking slowly till he sat on the floor.

"Why not?"

"Oh— I— " He did not want to tell her about the pain in his leg. "Its— It's these clothes, you see. I'm not used to trousers— stop laughing. I'm not. Honestly. I'm used to wearing robes everywhere."

Tam looked him over, while Carl's face burned. "Well, I'm wearing a dress. Would you like to trade?"

"Thank you," said Carl politely, "but it just wouldn't be the same."

Tamerlaine shifted onto her side so she could look at him. "I can't believe you became a monk, Carl."

"Friar," said Carl automatically, and then covered his mouth with his hand. "Sorry. Van Helsing said if I corrected that one more time he'd cut off my ears."

Tamerlaine smiled. "I wonder how you'd look, streamlined?"

"Really, Tam—"

"No, wait. I'm interested now. I must know." She got to her knees and shuffled over to Carl, put her hands over his protuberant ears and pressed them flat against his head. She laughed. Carl made a face at her.

"How do I look?"

"Like a Greek god," she answered, half-seriously, then leant forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Carl, remember when we were children and you said you'd marry me the day I turned sixteen?"

"I remember," Carl whispered. He was shaking badly and hoped she wouldn't notice.

"Well, I'm past thirty, Carl. You broke your promise— you missed your chance—" She smiled slightly and kissed him again.

"Tam," Carl whispered.

"Yes."

"Will you—"

"_Yes_," she said. But the question she expected was not the one he asked.

"Tell me about Simon," he said, reaching up and, gently but firmly, taking her hands away from his face.

If he expected a dramatic reversal from Tamerlaine, he was disappointed. She simply sighed a little and seated herself next to him.

"Did you read my book, Carl? I always said I was going to be a writer— of course I had intended to write something else."

"No," said Carl truthfully. "I didn't think it would help me— enjoy life anymore."

She smiled delightedly. "You always did have a marvelously succinct way of putting things, Mr. Hampton. Well, never mind. I'm just as glad that you didn't— it would have made you sad, which in turn would have depressed my spirits drastically." She bit her lip and shook her head. "No one should be put away like that, to be forgotten," she said softly. "Even those who truly do deserve it—"

"They said terrible things," said Carl listlessly. "About what they thought you had done. But I never believed them, I swear I didn't, Tam."

She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "That's so— _incredible_ of you, Carl."

"There was no evidence," offered Carl eagerly. "There was nothing that seriously points to your having— " He choked on the word _murdered. _"On your having done those things at all."

Tamerlaine said slowly, "But suppose they had been telling the truth."

Carl pushed her away and jumped to his feet. "They _weren't_!"

Tamerlaine watched him and her eyes filled with tears. Carl knelt immediately and put his arms around her, like he used to do when they were little.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair.

"'S alright."

"But— you don't honestly believe—"

"I don't know _what_ to believe!" she cried out, breaking away from him. "All my memories, of my childhood till I was in the asylum and nearly seventeen, are jumbled, mixed up, bleeding into each other. The only knowledge was what they told me I'd done, and the only constant—" She swallowed. "Was you."

Carl breathed deeply to try and steady his voice.

"I do not believe for one moment," he said slowly, "that you killed anyone. Not your parents, and not all those who died a few days ago. I don't _believe_ it."

Her voice shook, and tears trembled upon her eyelashes. "But _how do you know_?"


	21. Certain

Chapter Twenty-One: Certain

_I've loved, I've lost, I've followed down_

_The captain and his crew..._

An argument was taking place.

"I don't think I can stand it any longer."

"You'll just have to, won't you?"

"It's not right, I tell you!"

"_You_, who spent your entire life defrauding mental patients, tell _me _about right?" The voice jeered. "There's a laugh."

"Don't be that way. You know what I mean."

"No— what _do _you mean?"

The first voice shook with anger. "Its not right to do this to her—"

"Too late to do anything about _that_ now. If we set my poor little niece loose, she'd be lynched on sight. Haven't you read the papers? The public's in an uproar. Anyway, why mess up a setup like that? It was the centerpiece to the Plan. It was my pride and joy!"

"She ought to be able to live her life—"

"And she will. With you and me."

"And as for the other aspect of your Plan–"

"Are you going to bring that up again?"

"Mass destruction was not my intent when I joined this debacle."

"And it isn't mine, either. Pay attention, Simon. Nobody _has_ to die. They just have to give me what I want. Before I kill them."

"And bringing Mr. Hampton into it—"

"The friar?" A short, derisive laugh. "What does he matter? A technical genius, maybe, but one mess of a human being. Too short. Anyway, I don't believe he is a friar. Never saw a friar that looked like that. And he was wearing trousers instead of a dress."

"Robe."

"Whatever. And don't blame me for your delicate stomach."

"Torture just— just— its on my bad list, alright?"

"Fine, if you want to be weak about it. Tell you what, once he's built the weapon, we'll let him go."

"Fine, if we let the friar go—"

The first, deeper voice chuckled. "Maybe even give him a head start. Did you look at those blueprints? When that thing goes off, its going to be a mighty big bang."

There was a static silence.

"You don't mean to let him go, do you?" said the second voice. "Ever?"

The first voice was silent for a time, then it said, "To tell you honestly, Simon, I don't see that our friend Mr. Hampton deserves freedom any more than you do."

There was a definite chill in the air.

Simon gulped.

"And you never intend to let Tamerlaine free."

"Of, of course not. There's no way we can let her go, it would ruin everything. It'd be certain death to my Plan."

Another silence.

"Right," said Simon, and went out of the room.


	22. All

Chapter Twenty-Two: All

_There's not much left to be left behind_

_All's left to me and you_

"And that's why you didn't go with me yesterday, isn't it?"

"Was it only yesterday?"

"Yes. It's three in the morning."

"Oh." She gave a fond chuckle. "Trust you to have a watch, Carl."

They were huddled together in the dim light, huddled for warmth and for comfort. Tamerlaine unwrapped one of her arms from around Carl's chest and moved his hand to a slightly less uncomfortable position.

"Yes, that's why I stayed. I'd suspected for a while that something was up— of course I had no way of knowing what it was— but I had to try and find out. They're the only family I've got, Carl."

Carl was thinking some very un-friar-like thoughts but he didn't put any of them into words. Instead he said, "What is it, do you think, that your uncle wants?"

"After hearing the list of the dead— I'd say power. Money used to be his ultimate goal— well, he's achieved that. I don't know who he wants to rule over— local government— London— England— Perhaps he wants to marry the Queen. Perhaps he only wants people to be afraid of him." She yawned. "Perhaps he's a squirrel with a red tail, Carl, _I_ don't know." She paused for a moment and thought. "I can't believe he set up my supposed death as you say he did."

Carl shuddered. "Believe it," he told her. "I was there."

"That poor girl, who died because she could pass for me— I wonder who she was. We probably looked nothing alike, really."

Carl shivered and clutched Tamerlaine tighter. "You looked enough alike," he said, "and I'd like that to end this conversation."

"I keep forgetting," murmured Tamerlaine, "how upsetting it must be to believe that one's beloved has murdered several people and then committed suicide."

"It is upsetting.," said Carl. "And don't try any more sneaky baiting, you've been my beloved since I was five years old and you know it."

Tamerlaine smiled at him.

"Hint, hint," prompted Carl.

Tamerlaine yawned.

"And anyway you never answered my question," said Carl, somewhat disgruntled.

"What question?"

"Specifically, 'Will you tell me about Simon?'"

"Oh— Simon." Tamerlaine shifted till she was facing him. "Well— you remember how I told you that all my memories were mixed up and—"

"Jumbled," supplied Carl. "Yes, I remember."

"Until I was in the asylum and nearly seventeen? Well, that was when I met Simon." She sighed. "Isn't it funny that he's been playing my younger brother? He's forty-three— much, much older than I."

"Very funny," said Carl obediently. "Tell me."

"Well— he was working at the asylum. A young, handsome doctor, very well-liked by everyone, but— he had an independent streak. He _thought_ about things. He was a crook, later on, but while he was young, a more earnest, honest person never lived."

"Sound sickening," Carl commented.

She looked at him. "He was the only one who believed me," she said, "when I told him I honestly hadn't threatened to kill my sister, and at the time had no memory of killing my parents."

"_I_ would have believed you."

"Yes, Carl, but you weren't there. Simon was."

"He's not your brother, is he," said Carl flatly.

"Carl, I have been Simon's wife for eighteen years."

Carl sighed and let go of her. He stood and walked to the other side of the room, lay down and faced the wall.

"Carl—"

"I don't wish to discuss it, if you don't mind, Miss Gentle. Or— what is your name now? Mrs. Something." The friar's voice was wavery, with pain or anger Tamerlaine couldn't determine, but it worried her.

"Carl, surely you can't blame me—"

"For being married? For falling in love with someone—" The rest of the words, _other than me_, he couldn't manage to force from his mouth. "Of course I can't blame you. You had a life to live, you went out and lived it. Under the circumstances, I should Bravo! Well done, Tamerlaine Gentle. Only it isn't Tamerlaine Gentle, is it? What is your name these days?"

Tamerlaine got up silently and crossed over to him. "It _is_ Tamerlaine Gentle," she said. "Your Tamerlaine Gentle, the same as it has always been."

She lay down beside him, front to back, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against his back. Her hand found his and gripped it tightly— after a moment he returned the pressure.

She leaned forward and whispered in his ear—

"_I've never loved anyone but you. That has to be enough."_


	23. Dire

Okay, so, in the interest of checking up on the coherence of my narrative (big words! Yay!) is everybody clear on the tablecloth thing? :) Just checking... how about Simon? Any questions on his place in Tamerlaine's life? Yes? No? Let me know, explaining things gives me this feeling of power that is not to be missed. :) Enjoy.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Dire

_No one believes the way I lie_

_No one can say I'm wrong_

Quite apart from missing Carl's good-natured yammering, Van Helsing was not enjoying his one-on-one with Hannah at all. She prattled, gibbered, offered him pillows, offered him tea, offered to stir up the fire, and, to top it all off, seated herself on the couch next to him in what she probably fondly imagined to be a seductive yet innocent pose.

She took off her scarf.

_Verrrrry slowly_.

Van Helsing leapt to his feet. "Excuse me," he said, "I feel the urgent need to vomit, Mrs. Hampton." A quick bow and he was out the door like a flash. He found his way to the kitchens and entertained himself by getting in the way of the cook.

"Tell me," he began, knocking over a spice rack, "was Mr. Hampton very naughty when he was a child?"

The cook giggled— as she was a large woman, it sounded like a train coming down the tracks. "Oh, he was awful, Mr. Van Helsing."

"Awful?"

"Awful. He and that little Tamerlaine— my, they did get in scrapes sometimes. Amazing what they did, for how undersized they both were. Young Mr. Hampton once blew up the garden shed— blew it to bits, he did."

"I'll bet he did," said Van Helsing. "Unfortunately, that tendency to destruction is with him to this very day."

"The poor boy— Miss Hannah acted as mother to him, as Mrs. Hampton was always very sickly. But Miss Hannah had a kind of a— a sharp way about her, if you know what I mean, even then. And of course her insistence that he eat four squar meals a day only aggravated his problem."

"His— problem?"

"Overweight, he was," the cook confided gingerly. "That little boy could eat more in one sitting than I'd eat in a day. 'Course I was skinnier back then. But young Mr. Hampton was a bookish lad, not much for running around after little Tamerlaine was taken— and though he was stubby to begin with, when he left this house he was downright stout. Part of the reason I was so glad to see him— glad to see he'd grown up a respectable shape."

"Of course," said Van Helsing gravely.

The cook's expression turned worried. "Oh, I do hope we find him soon, Mr. Van Helsing. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's not getting enough to eat."

Van Helsing was a fast runner, but even so, he barely made it out of the kitchens before he began laughing.

B.R.E.A.K.

Carl awoke to some unknown noise. He couldn't figure out what it was, but found that in his sleep he'd shifted round so his arms encircled Tamerlaine, and her head rested on his shoulder. He looked down on her dreamily and for a moment forgot where, exactly, he was.

Then it came to him that the peculiar sounds were caused by the door being unlocked.

Which meant it would be opened.

He let go of Tamerlaine and sat up as the door creaked ajar. Tamerlaine opened her eyes and looked at the figure standing there.

"Hello Simon," she said dully.

"Shh!" said Simon, and slipped inside. He set the door to, but didn't close it, then turned and stared at them, his mouth open.

Time passed. Carl raised his eyebrows. Tamerlaine said, "Yes, Simon, did you have something to say?"

"You're utterly lovely," said Simon abruptly. Carl flicked his eyes down to Tamerlaine and could see red stealing over her cheek.

"And isn't it wonderful," Simon went on, "that after so many years there are still so many mysteries in our marriage?" He took a few steps forward and began to lean over her, but she shrank back— against Carl, incidentally. Carl put a hand on her arm and then dropped it.

Simon laughed, a low chuckle, and sank to his knees. "I know you, Tamerlaine, and I know your loyalties. I gather it was more due to your friend the friar that you remain faithful to me. And for that I thank you—" He swept Carl a mocking half-bow. "But, dear friar, you need do me no favors, for I don't like to owe anyone anything."

"What are you here for, Simon?" asked Tamerlaine wearily.

"Cannot I come to visit my wife in her times of trouble? Even with so attractive a lover—" He broke off and stared at Carl. "Excuse me, sir, but did you just growl?"

"That was me," said Tamerlaine.

"Actually it was both of us," said Carl.

"Stop being so theatrical, Simon, and get to the point."

"Very well, beloved, the point is this. I now see fit to let you free." He stood up and looked at them expectantly. Carl and Tamerlaine exchanged glances.

"I beg your pardon?" said Carl.

Simon sighed. "You—" he said, engaging in over-sized gestures, "leave— now. Go— away." He grinned at Carl, who began to wonder about his sanity. "Understand?"

"You're letting us go?" said Tamerlaine. "You're letting us go."

Simon smiled crookedly and extended a hand to her. She grasped it after some hesitation, and stood. He pulled her towards him, leaving Carl to struggle to his feet on his own. He winced at the hurt and wished he'd taken a look at his leg to ascertain the damage. Pain wracked him and he leant against the wall, gritting his teeth

_Not dead yet, _he thought, _not dead yet._

Simon grasped Tamerlaine by the wrists and held her close to him. She pushed at him and he held her tighter, till she stopped moving and stared in his eyes.

They remained so for a long time, and the expression on their faces made Carl feel like crying.

Then Simon said, "You know I do everything for you, my love."

"On the contrary, I've never once been entirely sure of your motives for anything."

Simon grinned. "Believe nothing," he told her, then bent and kissed her long and hard. Finally he released her and pushed her through the door; only then did he turn to Carl.

His lip curled. "In pain, little holy man?"

"No," lied Carl. With a great effort he levered himself off the wall and stumbled towards the door.

As he reached it, Simon tripped him, reaching out at the same time to grab hold of his shirt. He hoisted Carl upright and whispered a dire promise in his ear.

"_Play her false and you regret it. Touch her and you die."_


	24. Truth

An extremely-extremely short-short chapter...

Eris, trust me, something EXTREMELY nice will happen to Carl :) depending on how you look at it that is...

RogueCajun, I didn't know there was a Tamerlaine in the Poe canon. The name came from my sister jumbling people's names up "Tabithan— Tamerlaine— Tristaine— what is that woman's name anyway?" (The name was Marie or something like that)

Fanfictionfanatic you write the shortest reviews I've ever seen. :) Glad you like it though.

And the rest of you, thanks for reviewing. Sorry again this chapter is so short!

Chapter Twenty-Four: Truth

"_I never had a wish to die!"_

_I scream at the assembled throng_

What if?

Sometime in the night, Van Helsing dreamed.

Anna stood beside him; she reached out and touched his hand, letting her fingers linger on his before curving her grasp, curving her hand to fit in his grip. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, holding on to the last vestiges of a love that would, someday, die.

Just as she had.

His shoulders shook and he bent his forehead to her hand, his tears running warm onto her fingers. With her other hand she touched his hair, running it through her fingers— then her touch moved down his face, coming to rest just below his chin, lifting his head so he looked full on her.

In her face he saw the emotions he'd seen a year ago— the tiny, fighting love, the black, all-encompassing fear, the dearth of peace, the life-will. It twisted at his heart like a knife.

He looked still on her, though it pained him.

And in her eyes, he saw truth.

_In her eyes, he saw the truth._


	25. Aftermath

Chapter Twenty-Five: Aftermath

_Go, I follow_

_As fast as I've ever run_

They limped together through a stone doorway, Carl doing his best to support Tamerlaine, Tamerlaine doing her best to support Carl. Once on the street outside, she guided him towards an alley, uninhabited except for a lonely cat who looked at the two haggard people suspiciously and ran off with a hissing noise.

They collapsed together and leaned back against the wall.

"Are we safe here?" Carl panted.

"As safe as anywhere, I suspect." Tamerlaine tried to get her breath back in a series of fits and gasps.

"Why did they let us go?"

"I'm too bone-weary to even think about that now. Let me be for a bit."

"Right, sorry."

She gasped out a slight laugh. "Carl, stop apologizing for everything."

"Sorry." Carl caught the ridiculousness of things and snickered. "I mean, I'm just, I just really am a little out of things now, I suppose, I—"

She shook her head, leant against him and put her head on his shoulder. "Shut up," she mumbled in his ear and fell asleep.

Van Helsing came awake, blinking slowly. He found, to his surprise, that he stood fully upright, halfway dressed, in Carl's room.

_Why am I here?_

_Why are any of us here?_

_No need to get philosophical, Van Helsing._

Anna. He didn't even think about it, it didn't even make him blink. Anna was there, in his head. Somehow she'd gotten over the fear that had accompanied her death.

_Are you haunting me, Anna Valerious?_

_Just who is haunting whom, Van Helsing?_

He must be in Carl's room for a reason. He began to look around, noting that though this had been the friar's room in his childhood, it held no vestiges of the fact. No toys, few books— it was cold, with the fire out, and completely impersonal. Van Helsing shivered.

There was nothing there.

_Come now, Van Helsing,_ the voice in his head chided. _Are you going to give up so easily?_

Carl was a bright man, and had been, no doubt, a bright boy, albeit, Van Helsing grinned, a somewhat rotund one. The first place someone would look— would be, probably, under the bed. So it wouldn't be there.

Or maybe it would, if Carl was sneaky enough. Perhaps he expected someone to dismiss the obvious place—

Of course, he may have anticipated_ that_ twist of thought, too, in which case—

Van Helsing shook his head. He was confusing himself needlessly. The simplest thing to do would be to look, of course.

He bent down, sinking to his knees beside the bed.

_If only I didn't feel this constant need to prove myself Carl's intellectual equal— _

_If you weren't so insecure about yourself, you wouldn't have this problem._

_Insecure? Why should I be insecure? Especially when I compare myself to that pale little whiz- kid of a friar?_

_Well, they do say blonds have more fun._

Van Helsing looked under the bed.

A few dust bunnies stared back at him.

He looked further, contorting himself awkwardly, but clearly there was nothing there. With a sigh of disappointment that sent the dust bunnies flurrying, he moved to stand back up, and caught his head a sharp crack on the bed.

"_Ow_—"

Van Helsing rolled over onto his back, clutching his head and cursing to himself. Carl would have been proud.

It was thus, lying on his back staring at the underside of the bed, that he saw it.

He pulled it from the slats that encased it, clambered up from the floor, more carefully this time, and placed the object on the bed. A book it was, fairly large, with no title on the binding.

With wide eyes and careful fingers, he began to turn the pages.


	26. Blood

Chapter Twenty-Six: Blood

_Don't bother,_

_I'll be able to tell when it's done_

"Carl!"

He started awake to find Tamerlaine leaning over him, looking worried. Leaning over the lower half of his body, to be specific.

"What?"

"You're all bloody!"

"Am I?"

"Your leg's all torn up, Carl!"

He considered the advantages of modesty at this point and decided to leave it. When he leaned forward and looked down, however, he saw the decision had been made for him. Tamerlaine had ripped his trouser leg to the waist, and piled the ruined fabric there to preserve some of his dignity. His legs, which were never exposed to the sunlight, looked excessively pale and sad in some areas and worrisomely bloody in others.

"Van Helsing's not going to be happy about his trousers."

"Never mind Van Helsing and his blasted trousers, what happened?"

"I— I was just about to ask you the same question."

"You mean you don't know?"

"I don't—" But he did remember, the blackness that obscured his vision and the searing pain that ripped down his leg. "I don't—"

She watched him. "It wasn't Simon," she said. "He wouldn't have dared face me if he'd done it. It was him, wasn't it— my uncle."

"I don't—" said Carl doggedly. "It was— dark— but— look, are you alright?"

Tamerlaine took a quick glance down at herself. "Yes, Carl, this blood isn't mine."

"Oh good."

"It's yours."

"Oh dear."

She nodded, then returned to inspecting the wound. It was a deep gash, cut almost like a bolt of lightening, and it ran from just above his knee to nearly his ankle. He didn't like the look of it at all.

Tamerlaine tore a strip off her skirt and began to try and clean it a little. Carl sucked in his breath and she looked considerately at him. "I am sorry," she said. "That must hurt badly."

"No not at all," said Carl through his teeth.

"Don't be a hero, dearest. Scream if you want. Not too loudly, though, remember they're not too far away."

Carl breathed deep and managed to contain the expression of his pain to a whimper. Rather than watch whatever it was Tamerlaine was doing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing and the feel of his heartbeat.

_Not dead yet, not dead yet, not dead yet— _

"I don't think its as bad as it looks," said Tamerlaine finally, somewhat dubiously. "I'd advise we get to a doctor as soon as possible, however." She stopped, and looked at him with sorrow. "You're have to go on your own, Carl."

"What? Why?"

"I can't be seen by anyone. I don't know who might be looking for me."

"But— but they let us go!"

"No. No, I was thinking about the situation while I was resting."

"You were sleeping," Carl retorted.

"No I wasn't."

"You snored right in my ear."

"Well, fine, I was sleeping, but still thinking. And I realized _they_ didn't let us go. _Simon_ let us go."

"Simon?"

"Oh yes. Don't ask me why."

"But—"

"I said don't ask me."

"I didn't."

"You were going to."

"Tell me," said Carl softly.

She tied up the last of the strip of cloth, sat back on her heels and looked at him. "Because in his own twisted, self-centred way, he still loves me. The same way he has for so many years." She shook her head at his expression. "Simon's very emotional, really. Very focused on _feelings_— obviously he wasn't thinking. Not with his head, anyway. My uncle won't be very happy, I suspect." She grinned. "I'd love to see what he does to Simon when he finds out. Only—" Her grin faded. "Not really."

She fidgeted. "Trust me, he'll be trying to get me back. He's not going to let his scapegoat get away."

"But— but surely you can trust a doctor."

She looked at him and was quiet for a minute. "The first time, you remember, they had both the police and the doctors on their side."

Carl felt the sun of that hot afternoon so long ago when they came and took a six-year-old Tamerlaine away. He said nothing, only nodded to show he understood.

"Alright," said Tamerlaine, and began to stand up.

"Only," said Carl, "if they're looking for you surely they'll be looking for me too."

She frowned.

He winced, and smiled.

B.R.E.A.K.

Van Helsing sat engaged in deep cogitation at the dining table, having examined all of the pages of the book he'd found beneath Carl's bed. Things were pasted on the pages, cuttings from newspapers, faded photographs, and some skeletal remains of a leaf— probably. It looked ready to disintegrate if touched.

He leaned his chin on his hand, staring at one of the photographs. It was of Tamerlaine and Carl and some unidentified man, who, Van Helsing assumed, must be Tamerlaine's father. The resemblance was there and undeniably clear, from the tilt of the head to the curve of the cheek. Carl and Tamerlaine stood with arms around each other, brilliant smiles on their faces— the adult looked down on them with something resembling indulgence, but underneath it was something else.

Van Helsing bent his head closer to the page till his vision filled with the faces of the two children. Slowly he closed his eyes.

He heard voices.

_Will they never give me rest?_ he thought irritably, but then it dawned on him that the voices were real.

He sat up and stared at the door.

Yes, unmistakably real—

With a bound he was out of his chair and wrenching at the doorhandle. He ran through the house to the drawing room, where Hannah fussed over two figures who stood huddled over the fire.

Van Helsing stopped short just inside the door, and the figures wheeled and looked at him and gave him tired smiles.

With a stream of curses that made Hannah faint across the couch, Van Helsing leapt across the room and took Carl in a firm embrace.


	27. Belief

Hey, everybody, whats up? I'm just getting over being sick so it may be a while before I get the next chapter up, but in the meantime, let me know what you're still confused about. I'm trying to work it all out in my head and its good to have someone else's perspective. Also I started a blog, if you're at all interested in my ramblings, and the link is on my bio page. Its called... get this... "Running Into Nothing."

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Belief

_You never asked what I thought of you_

_Mourning while the day is new_

Carl, at long last, finished explaining to Van Helsing everything that had happened since his abduction, and his supposition of the reason for it.

Van Helsing rubbed his chin, casting a glance down at Tamerlaine, who, seated on the floor by Carl's feet, was cleaning and dressing the cut her uncle had given him. Hannah, who had been bundled out of the room without ceremony, banged weakly at the door and demanded petulantly to be let in.

"So Edward Gentle is behind all this, eh?"

"That would appear to be the case, yes," said Carl. "Ow," he added as Tamerlaine finished tying up the bandage.

Van Helsing looked down at her. Aware of his gaze, she moved cautiously, not looking up.

"Then I suppose we'd better find him," said Van Helsing. "Since he has the weaponry— only, he can't make it without you can he?"

Carl looked decidedly unhappy. "He can," he admitted. "Everything to make the weapon operable is there, in the blueprints."

"Then why did he take you?"

"The only thing that's still in my head is— the safety catch. The switch that makes sure it won't go off on its own once its assembled. Otherwise—" Carl shrugged helplessly. "It's like playing Russian roulette."

Van Helsing stared at him until the friar blushed. "This ought to be fun."

"I'm sorry, truly, I just—"

"Carl, stop apologizing for everything."

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?"

"We'd better find him," Van Helsing repeated grimly. "I need answers." His gaze returned to Tamerlaine, who still sat on the floor, apparently deeply engrossed in Carl's leg. He reached out and grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"How did your uncle know about the weapon?" he demanded harshly. Tamerlaine closed her eyes and shook her head. "How?"

"I can only guess that he heard Carl tell me about it," she said, her voice breaking, and tears seeping out from under her eyelids.

"You didn't tell him?"

"No!" The denial came from her like a shout. She opened amber eyes and stared at him. "I did not tell them anything."

Van Helsing let go of her physically but held her with his gaze. "Why had you been keeping your marriage to Simon a secret?"

She turned her head from him and wiped her eyes. "These are modern times," she said slowly. "Marrying the inmate of an asylum would be looked on as taking advantage of someone while they were not in their right mind. Especially when you consider that if my uncle dies I stand to inherit a great deal of money. Simon knew this, and rather than enter that mess we were married and then the records destroyed— I don't know how he managed it— when I emerged from the asylum he wasn't willing to wait and be properly married— he came with me as my brother."

"His story, if you didn't know, is that he's your half-brother, by your uncle."

She shrugged. "A tale rooted in truth, no doubt, and not without precedent. My uncle and my mother may have been—" She swallowed. "And my uncle and my father were only half-brothers themselves. It's a complicated issue. All the truths are half-buried in lies and obscure bloodlines." She sighed, and her hand crept up to take possession of Carl's. "But I'm telling you the truth— I swear, the only truth I know."

"What do you mean?" asked Van Helsing sharply. She turned tear-stained eyes on him.

"Mr. Van Helsing, I have spent most of my natural life in an asylum. The more sane you are going in, the more unstable when you come out. As far as I know I may very well be responsible for the deaths of those people, and all this is just fabrication, even as I may be responsible for the deaths of my parents so many years ago."

"You're not," said Carl suddenly, and stood up. "You're _not_!" He walked from the room, Tamerlaine watching him go. Once the door opened they heard the excited flutterings of Hannah— then Carl closed the door, quietly, leaving them alone.

Van Helsing joined Tamerlaine on the floor. She glanced at him quickly and wiped her eyes.

"Its incredible that, after all these years, he still stands up for me in this manner."

"Not really," said Van Helsing. "Carl's always been the sort that takes hold of belief with both hands. He loves you, and he's not about to let go for anything."

"I know."

They sat together in silence for a moment. Then Van Helsing said, hesitantly, "I'm not sure what Carl told you about me—"

"That you were a friend to him— he said you were a monster hunter."

Van Helsing nodded and Tamerlaine's tentative smile faded. "I don't understand that, I'm afraid."

"I'll explain it sometime. It's a—" Van Helsing sighed. "It's a long story."

"He said you'd lost the only woman you loved a year ago."

"That's— true, as far as that goes."

"What happened?" she asked quietly. "You needn't tell me, you know, but—"

Van Helsing stared into space. "I killed her."

Tamerlaine's eyes widened. "What? Carl said it was a— said it was a mistake, a, a tragedy—"

"It was both a mistake and a tragedy, and my fault. I'd become what I hunted for so long. I was a monster." He raised his hands and stared at them. "I may still be."

"If you are a monster," she said, taking his hands in her own and lowering them back into his lap, "then I am a demon."

"You're not."

She said, "I wish I knew—"

"You're not," Van Helsing repeated, squeezing her hands. She smiled faintly at him.

"No, I suppose I'm not, really. I am no demon— nor am I angel."

Van Helsing felt a tingle go down his spine at her choice of words. "What _are_ you?"

Firelight sparked her eyes as she smiled while answering. "Complicated."

"Well, I knew that," Van Helsing snorted.

"You asked."

"You're a writer, aren't you?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes."

"You make your living as a writer?"

"No, I make my living as a gentlewoman."

"Meaning—"

"Meaning I get an allowance from my uncle, through his solicitor."

"The solicitor!" Van Helsing said, suddenly excited. "Surely he could tell us where your uncle is."

Her face closed suddenly, shuttered off. "No," she said shortly, and got up.

Van Helsing followed her. "But we have to find out where he lives—"

"I know where he lives. Carl and I were being held there. But with me loose, he won't dare remain. He'll have left by now, for sure."

"Then we must find where he's gone."

She shook her head, tightened her lips, and headed for the door.

"Mrs. Gen— Tamerlaine, you have to help me find him."

"I can't."

He reached out and caught her arm. "Why not?"

She looked him in the eyes for a moment. "If you truly believe," she said quietly, "that you killed your beloved, then you will understand how— how _weak_ I feel. How _nothing_, empty. A shell."

Van Helsing stared at her; then he shook his head. "You and I— apart from our hardships we are nothing alike, we have nothing in common. It is my profession to kill. It is not in you."

She shook, and it looked like the tears were coming again, but she gritted her teeth and fought them back. Van Helsing pulled her into his arms, letting her rest her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, marveling at the delicacy of her bones, and she leant against him, but she did not relax and she did not hug him back.

It had been so long since he'd held a woman.

_And this was the wrong one._

He forced his mind away from that and concentrated on being big-brotherly. Tamerlaine remained tense.

A light went off in Van Helsing's brain.

He let her go and pointed a finger at her.

"I'll prove it to you," he said. "I'll prove it. Come with me."


	28. Want

A nice long chapter. I decided this thing was getting way too long, so I'm cramming. I like this one because Van Helsing gets to monologue, which he hardly ever does— he leaves it to Carl, y'know.

Simon let Tamerlaine go for the reason given— he still loves her. This becomes rather important near the end. And we're getting pretty darn near the end, I must say. (sigh) _Finally!_

I did see "LXG" once but was pretty much comatose for the entire thing. The "complicated" line was my own. Thanks to everyone who keeps complimenting me on my writing style (shrugs, very embarrassed) I ought to be_ better_, I've been doing this my whole life. Wasn't until I was thirteen or so that I finally developed my own style, and I've written eight or nine books since then (not to bore you or anything, of course :)

Incidentally, I'm searching for the perfect song to provide background music for Carl and Tamerlaine's disjointed romance. Any suggestions? I listen to everything from U2 to Flogging Molly when I type, so I could be searching for a while...

And, in order to forestall any questions, no I have not been watching "Star Wars" recently. Hope that didn't give anything away! :)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Want

_Lead me on the paths I ought to walk_

_Speak for me when I cannot talk_

Taking Tamerlaine by the hand, Van Helsing led her into the dining room, where Carl sat with his head on his arms. He looked up as they entered.

"I'm sorry, Tamerlaine, I—"

She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Sorry for being my defender? Stop apologizing, Carl."

Van Helsing contrasted the freeness of physical touch she had with Carl, with the stiffness she felt with him. Of course, she'd only just met him. Still—

He directed her attention to the book, which lay open on the table.

Tamerlaine tipped her head to one side and looked at it. "What is it?"

"A scrapbook," answered Carl. "I'd forgotten about it. Where did you find it, Van Helsing?"

"In your room," the monster hunter answered.

"In my _room_? You went in my _room_?" Carl started indignantly. Van Helsing held up a hand.

"Carl, this is really not the time."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Carl, stop apologizing for everything," said Van Helsing and Tamerlaine simultaneously.

"Sorr— bugger." Carl shut up. Tamerlaine pulled the scrapbook toward her and, with a malicious smile, sat in Carl's lap. The smallish friar gave a slight grunt and she stared at him with wide, startled eyes.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Hampton?"

"Yes, you're squashing my—"

"You used to sit on me when I was a child. I didn't enjoy it. And trust me, it hurt much more than this."

"Incidentally," said Van Helsing, his eyes lighting up. He chuckled and had to stop and clear his throat before starting again. "Incidentally, Carl, I've been meaning to have a discussion with you about a certain— _problem_, you had as a child—"

"Can we please concentrate on the matters in hand?" said Carl immediately.

"Please do," said Van Helsing politely. "Don't let my presence inhibit you in any way."

Carl glared at him and unwrapped his arms from about Tamerlaine's waist. Responding to the hint, she stood, still staring at the scrapbook with intrigued eyes.

"You said you would prove to me that I didn't kill my parents."

"Yes. Young Carl cut out all the newspaper articles that had to do with the strange case of your parent's demises— demisi— demis— what is the plural of that? Anyway. Your father died of being strangled, and your mother a year after in a freak accident. A fire was started, the building was structurally unsound, it caved in on her. Very little was said about your father's death until after your mother died as well. Then, the wheels started turning, channels were gone through, and eventually you, a harmless child of six, were arrested. _Supernatural aid_, the paper says, was the explanation of how a tiny girl killed a grown man— the case was wreathed in sensation and drama. Thus, you were hauled off to the asylum."

Carl, watching Tamerlaine's face, veiled by her wheat-coloured hair, broke in and said, "Yes, we know all this, Van Helsing. Get to the point."

"The point," said Van Helsing, "the point is— the point is this, quite simply. Suspicion wasn't placed on Tamerlaine until—" He tapped one of the articles. "Until suspectful eyes were directed towards Tamerlaine's uncle, Edward Gentle. He was a natural suspect, as he inherited the entire estate. Then, quickly, _someone_ acted to divert it towards young Tamerlaine. Her obviously disturbed state, easily explained by the traumatic deaths of her parents, didn't help. A few subliminal messages from the same someone— children are particularly susceptible to hints from adults— the partially-manufactured threat to Tam's sister— and voila._ Young Girl Committed To Insane Asylum— Suspected Connection to Death of Her Parents_." Van Helsing's blunt index finger tapped idly at the heading of another article. Overcome with the exhilaration of delivering all this to its logical end, he grinned broadly at Carl, who returned his joviality.

"Brilliant, Van Helsing! Congratulations on your first cognitive victory!"

"What—" Van Helsing's smile turned to a frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"So it's all solved," said Carl jubilantly, jumping up and down slightly. "No more fretting, dear heart. All we have to do is find your uncle, overpower him before the weapon goes off, turn him over to the police, apprehend Simon, clear your name, collect the inheritance, get you a divorce on the sly, smuggle you into the Vatican dressed as a nun, and there you have it! Peace and happiness for all involved! Except your uncle, of course," he amended. "And, er, not Simon."

Van Helsing watched Tamerlaine— her amber eyes were still veiled by long lashes, and he mouth was doubtful.

"Is something wrong?"

She looked up at him. "Do you really— you really think this can be true?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't."

She sighed. "No, I suppose not."

"Look, its all that makes sense. I mean, come on— supernatural involvement?"

"You don't think—" she said questioningly.

_Do you, Van Helsing?_

_No._

"No," he said firmly, "I don't." Tamerlaine still looked supremely unsure. "Do you _want _to believe it?"

"Oh yes," she whispered, "I want to believe."

"Well, then—"

Carl stopped doing whatever Irish jig he'd been demonstrating and latched on to the fact that more serious discussion. "What is it, Tamerlaine?"

"My life—" she said, staring into space, "has been spent in penitence for a wrong-doing I thought I had perpetuated. Everything I've ever known has been tainted by this belief that I'm undeserving, a bad person, for doing something I couldn't remember. I spent my life in a _prison_—" She cried out helplessly, banged her fist on the table and clenched her teeth. "And now you tell me there's a_ possibility_ that I was misled, misinformed, mistreated. And I don't know if it would be a tragedy to find that someone has shaped my life this way— or a tragedy only to find that _all thirty-six years have been one long bloody waste of time_." She inhaled a shuddery breath and went on, slightly more calmly. "It is not promising that both options are tragedies. And— all I know is I'm done with half-truths, done with lies. I want to know the _truth_. The _real_!" She turned beseeching eyes on Van Helsing. "Tell me how."

Van Helsing clasped her hand. "Help us find your uncle," he said quietly, "and make him yield truth, as a prize."

Some time later, they were still seated around the table, in various stages of enervation.

"I've never been this confused in my entire life," said Carl exhaustedly, rubbing at his eyes.

"I have," said Van Helsing and Tamerlaine at the same time. Their gaze met and they shared a rueful smile. Tamerlaine was turning over the pages of Carl's scrapbook.

"Isn't it awful," she marveled, "how all three people in this room had miserable childhoods."

"Terrible," agreed Carl, and Van Helsing grunted assent.

Tamerlaine then shook her head and said to Van Helsing, "Of course, _you_ may not have— do you mind me calling you Gabriel? I don't like using last names as firsts, like Carl seems to."

"What do you mean, I may not have?" said Van Helsing. "You may call me whatever you wish."

"Thank you. Well, all I hear is that your memories are disjointed, few and far between— you can't recall if you have a family, for instance—"

"Yes. What of it?"

"Well, I only thought, perhaps you had a good childhood." She shrugged, a slight movement of her thin shoulders. "How would you know?"

"I—" said Van Helsing, and stopped. "I never thought of that before."

"Hmm," said Tamerlaine, moderately cheerfully, and shrugged again.

"But I've spent so long fighting my own demons— far too long— its hard to imagine."

Tamerlaine fixed a look of sympathy on him. "I too have many demons, Mr. Van— Gabriel. Yet the greatest friendship I've ever had is still with me today, to be the light to my dark. Even after thirty years of absence."

"Sorry," said Carl, looking up, "but are you talking about me?"

She turned a fond smile on him. "Of course I'm talking about you, idiot." Then her eyes returned to Van Helsing. "Don't give up, Gabriel," she said softly. "You never know who may be waiting out there— waiting to come back into your life."

Van Helsing nodded shortly and said, "Actually I'd prefer it if you call me Van Helsing, as Carl does." He gave her a crooked smile. "It always seems to be my enemies who go immediately to first name terms."

She tightened her lips and nodded, and looked down again at the scrapbook. The skeleton of the leaf was on the next page she turned— her fingertip with bitten-down nails hovered over it, not quite touching.

"Carl—" she said slowly. Carl looked up at her. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes, I believe so." They shared a smile and Van Helsing felt left out. He hadn't felt like that in a long time but there was no other term for it but— _left out_. He wondered if Carl had felt like this, watching he and Anna .

_No, because he had that barmaid, remember?_

"That was a great tree," said Tamerlaine, wistfully, turning the page.

"I still dream about it," said Carl. "Remember carving our names in it? Remember that peculiar plant that grew around it? Remember when we— what is it?"

Tamerlaine's face had gone ashen grey as she stared at a photo. "My uncle," she said.

"What?" The two men bent over the page.

"I thought that was your father," said Van Helsing.

"My," said Carl, fascinated, "I _do _look rather heavy there, don't I?" Van Helsing nudged him. "Sorry."

"No, its not my father. Father died long before this picture was taken. No, that's Uncle Edward." Tamerlaine trembled violently and wrapped her arms around herself, looking down fixedly at the cold, handsome face in the photo. "I didn't know I'd have this reaction to— its just a photograph after all."

"Are you _sure_ its not your father?" Van Helsing demanded.

"Of course I'm sure— why? What are you thinking?"

"Look," he said, pointing first to young Tamerlaine's face in the photo, then to her uncle's. "Such a striking resemblance."

"Well, that's not peculiar in itself," she said. "We are related, after all."

"You said your father and uncle were only half-brothers," said Van Helsing slowly. "What are the odds of such a strong resemblance in blood already so diffused?"

Tamerlaine stopped trembling and sat utterly still. "What do you mean?" she demanded coldly, her eyes wide and horrified.

"I mean Edward Gentle is not your uncle." Van Helsing took a deep breath. "He's your father."


	29. Love

Hiya people... a brand-new day, a brand-new chapter. We approach the end, which is good... right?

Nfinity Nite Monaghan: I had you figured for a Lost fan just by your penname. I love it too! I nearly died when I watche the last episode, with Charlie... well, you know what I'm talking about if you've seen it and if you haven't I wouldn't want to spoil anything... but I nearly cried, my niece DID cry, my brother-in-law SOBBED UNCONTROLLABLY...

Carnicirthial thanks again for the buzz! I love your story by the way!

HomicidalChild: Glad we finally got everything straightened out... I do have seriousproblems but its highly doubtful I could ever comfortably write about someone marrying her father. Also in this case I think Carl would have a serious problem with it himself... no I never considered making it a slash fic, yes I wondered if people would start to wonder about Tamerlaine/Van Helsing.... and the little italicized lines are poems, I wrote them, they get explained at the end, but it helps if you remember that Tamerlaine is a writer....

And finally thanks much to Nikoru Sanzo and eris and Lady ot Rings... please keep reading and reviewing! :)

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Love

_The one that bends with the wind_

_Still points faithful to the end_

"I don't care," said Tamerlaine calmly.

Van Helsing and Carl stared at her.

"What?"

"I said, I don't _care_. What did you expect me to do, honestly? Start screaming my head off, yelling _noooooo_—" Tamerlaine sat forward and closed the scrapbook decisively. "I've had too many revelations in too short a time. I'm just not going to think about it. I'm just— not."

Van Helsing nodded. "A good idea, all things considered. The less dramatics, the better."

Carl raised his eyebrows at him.

"As I know from personal experience," Van Helsing finished.

Carl reached out and grasped Tamerlaine's hand. "All you need to know," he said tenderly, "is your own worth in the eyes of others."

"Oh. I thought you were going to say, in the eyes of God."

"Oh, yes. And God," amended Carl hastily. Tamerlaine gave him a funny look.

"You both truly believe I am innocent?"

Carl nodded, and Van Helsing said sincerely, "The most innocent person I have ever met. Bar none."

_None?_

_Anna, you were innocent, but never was an innocent so wronged as the woman before me now. Live with that._

_I can't._

_Oh._

_That was an unfortunate choice of words, Van Helsing_.

_Yes, I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_.

In his mind's eye he saw a brief flash of Anna's face, cold and still and, in death, accusing. The vision shook him to the foundations of his soul, and he staggered and would have fallen had not Carl leapt to support him.

The friar steered him into a chair and leant over him in concern.

"Are you alright?"

"What is it, Mr. Van Helsing?"

"I'll have Hannah bring tea." As Carl stood up, Tamerlaine forestalled him, hurrying to the door in his place, so he could sit by Van Helsing and stare at him in worry.

"I've been having— dreams," said Van Helsing hollowly. "I've had dreams before, you know that—"

"Yes." Carl shivered. Van Helsing's nighttime wanderings were not so much dreams as hellish nightmares of war, death, destruction, and a fierce joy in killing.

"Well, these dreams are different. These aren't— aren't so much fierce as still, fire-filled as cold— and while normally I dream of life and its ending, in these dreams there was never any life at all. They're as far removed from existence as the remotest corners of the universe. I feel— as if I am drowning in ice, pure and cold and never-ending." Van Helsing sighed and leaned his head on the table. Tamerlaine reappeared silently and set a cup of steaming tea at his elbow.

"It's because of Anna," said Van Helsing, voice muffled by the table.

"Van Helsing—" Carl said. "Anna is gone."

"She is_ not_ gone," said Van Helsing, looking up with fierce eyes. "I carry her with me _everywhere_. And she weighs down my soul. I cannot bear the burden of her, Carl— she speaks to me in the night, she wants to help but she doesn't know what her presence _does_ to me—"

Carl sat paralyzed, eyes wide. He was powerless to comfort Van Helsing, knowing himself the pain of Anna's death. It was Tamerlaine who went to her knees by Van Helsing's chair, turned his dark head to her shoulder, and stole her arms about his neck.

"You speak of pain," she said into his ear. "I know you feel it, your anguish is so real and demonstrable. I am sorry for your hurt, and for the death of your love."

"The death which I caused!" cried Van Helsing, pushing her away. "She was an innocent even as you are. She did not deserve to die. And there at the end, when I looked in her eyes, and saw the love eclipsed by fear—"

"You miss the point, Van Helsing," said Tamerlaine calmly, sitting back on her heels. "I suspect that happens rather often. Of course there was fear in her eyes. Everyone fears death. The important, the _amazing _thing, is that love was there still. The long and short of it is you brought to her what she feared the most, and _she loved you still_." Van Helsing quieted and Tamerlaine's eyes flicked to Carl. "A person could live on that for the rest of their life. Though— they shouldn't have to."

Van Helsing wiped the moisture from his eyes and looked into the clear amber ones in front of him. "You have helped me," he said shakily, "in more ways than one. And I shall help you, no longer because you're Carl's friend, but because I would have you be a friend to me." He bent and kissed her forehead softly. "You are an admirable woman, Tamerlaine Gentle."

"I thank you," said Tamerlaine. Her voice was small and in her eyes was reflected amazement at having Van Helsing's good regard to soon after meeting him. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"Lets," suggested Carl, "find her uncle and save the world before the weapon goes off and renders all this lovely emotional drama completely futile."

It was a good plan— they couldn't help but agree.

BREAK

Carl escaped back into the living room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"She's like a madwoman!" he gasped.

Tamerlaine looked up. "Who is?"

"My sister."

"Oh, hardly that."

"Yes, exactly that! I've never seen her so enraged! Stomping about the place raving on about this being her house and everyone's uninvited and Mother dying recently—" Carl's rant suddenly fixed on the figure at the other side of the room. "And apparently _you_ were quite impolite, Van Helsing."

The monster hunter looked up, innocence in his eyes. "Who, me?"

"I may choose not to believe the vile stories she told," said Carl, "if—"

"If?"

"If you go and— placate her with your— manly charm." Carl managed to get it out with a straight face but his resolve was seriously tested as Tamerlaine began snorting and couldn't seem to stop.

"Placate her?" repeated Van Helsing. "No, Carl, I think you had better handle your sister. Life-long relationship, and all that."

"Oh, please," said Carl carelessly. "Hannah hates me. If I was in, say, a life or death situation, and my well-being depended on my being absolutely silent, she'd probably wave pepper under my nose."

Van Helsing waited patiently for the explanation to this.

"Pepper," expounded Carl. "To make me sneeze. Sneeze— noise. Noise— death. See?"

"Ah," said Van Helsing. "Yes, at last I do see."

"And so _you_ had better tackle Hannah. Um— bad choice of words. Don't hit me."

"What he means is," interjected Tamerlaine, "perhaps Hannah would respond better to you because— because— well, inspiration gives out, but the general gist of things is neither Carl nor I can get her to help us in terms of provisions and, well, not calling the police. Perhaps you can do it. No, not _it_. Perhaps you can do _better_." She folded her hands and tried a smile on him.

Van Helsing stared at her. "Well, if you two have failed, I suppose I have no choice," he grumbled, and went to the door.

Tamerlaine and Carl looked at each other.

"'It?'"

"'Tackle Hannah?'" said Tamerlaine sarcastically.

Carl grinned like a wolf. "Van Helsing is taller, faster, stronger, braver, and more successful than I. I have to take what shots I can get and hope, when he falls, he doesn't land on me."

"Very philosophical," Tamerlaine observed.

"Well, I am a friar, you know."

"Aren't you due for a— what is it— promotion?"

"Not unless someone does away with the Cardinal. Jinette hasn't exactly taken a shine to me, you see, and until a more Carl-friendly Cardinal appears— I'm stuck."

"Sounds like fun."

"It's a living." Carl shrugged. "Not a very good one, but better than the alternative."

The door opened and Van Helsing came back in.

"You're not running," said Carl, "or crying. That's a good sign. What did she say?"

"She said you're to have whatever you want," said Van Helsing, complacently, sitting down.

"What did you say?"

"What did you _do_?" Carl wanted to know.

"None of your business," said Van Helsing.

Tamerlaine and Carl exchanged glances, then examined Van Helsing, who was looking introspective.

"I wonder what he's thinking?"

" 'Thank God Hannah doesn't wear lip rouge,' probably," said Carl.

The two of them emerged rather hastily from the dining room and went off in separate directions, Carl to put clothes into packs, Tamerlaine to speak to the cook about provisions.

Van Helsing sat behind and glared at the table.

Manly charm.

Hah.


	30. Starting

Hey everybody, has it been a long time or what? I wouldn't know, days have no meaning for me anymore...

I know a lot of you were curious about what happened when VH went to persuade Hannah. I had decided to keep it a secret, but since I was coming up with some lovely scenarios, if you really want to know send me an e-mail and I'll probably type one of them up and send it to you.

.... anyway here ya go! Next chapter!

Chapter Thirty: Starting

_It must pain you to let go_

_Of everything you've ever wished for_

"We're all set," said Carl, "all ready to go, all prepared, totally— ready. If we only had a destination in mind, this whole thing would be a piece of cake."

"I've been thinking about it," said Tamerlaine slowly. "Carl, you remember we had two homes, the one my sister and I stayed in after Mother died, and then the house on the cliff—"

"House on the cliff," Carl repeated. "What house on what cliff?"

"The one where Father was— found."

"Ah," said Carl immediately. "No, I don't remember, but I know what you mean."

"I thought it had been sold— that is, I assumed it had. But— suppose after the estate passed to Uncle Edward, he retained it?"

"It makes sense," said Van Helsing, "especially from a criminal point of view."

"How do you mean?"

"Ms. Gentle, I suspect very strongly that your uncle is responsible for the death of your father, if not your mother as well. It only makes sense to hold on to the property your father was murdered on— in order to keep nosy parkers from amateur-sleuthing around, if nothing else. Do you remember where it is?"

"To the north," she said, her brow wrinkling. "Near the Welsh border. We called it something ferociously clever, I remember— Dunroamin, or Gentle's Rest, or— something else sickeningly cute."

"And it was on a cliff."

"It was most definitely on a cliff," she agreed. "I nearly went over, one summer. I think my vertigo dates from that."

"You have vertigo?" said Carl. "I have vertigo!" In response to the look they both gave him, he said, "Right, some other time. Ahem, look, Tamerlaine, do you think there's anywhere else he might have gone?"

Tamerlaine buried her head in her hands. "That's just it, I don't know. I rarely spoke to my uncle— his disapproval of me was very public."

"False disapproval," interjected Van Helsing.

"False or otherwise, everyone heard about it. He gave me an allowance every month— he spoke to Simon quite often— perhaps I should have suspected they were in league together, but when one gets in a depression one tends to concentrate on oneself, you know."

"It was in the papers, you know," said Van Helsing suddenly. "Last night. Late edition. Sir Edward Gentle named successor to coveted Parliament position. No one seems to know where he is. I wonder what's next— Prime Minister? Queen of England?"

"Paper—" murmured Carl, thoughtfully thumbing his lower lip. "Paper? Oh!" His tone was so clearly surprised and exultant that it attracted the other two's attention and they both looked curiously at him. He had taken hold of the scrap-book and was rifling furiously through the pages.

"Where— I know it must be here— where could it— ah! Here it is!" He stared at the page and then looked up at Tamerlaine, a definite twinkle in his eye. "You're right."

"What about?"

"It was called Gentle's Rest."

"Where?"

"Just outside Craigorn-On-Wells. Gentle's Rest, East Hockley, Craigorn, Wales."

He pushed the book over to Van Helsing, who read the article with interest. When he finished, he said, "You were five when your father died—"

"Yes. I remember him going away. He said he wouldn't be long, he would be— come back soon." Tamerlaine's face was still but the look in her eyes made Carl worry. "It was all so long ago."

"And now you will make amends," said Van Helsing firmly. "Every crime has its punishment, and no victim ever goes fully unrevenged. It doesn't matter how long it takes."

Tamerlaine lifted her eyes and smiled.

"So what do we do?"

"We ride for Wales," said Carl, in a tone that brooked no argument.

They rode for Wales. There was some dispute as to whether or not horses would suffice— both Carl and Van Helsing were of the opinion that Tamerlaine should ride in a carriage. She insisted horses would be faster and she could ride. Not well, she admitted freely, but well enough.

Carl and Van Helsing said, amidst lots of hemming and hawing, that they'd feel better knowing she, as a female, was fully protected from the elements— whereupon she called them both male chauvinist pigs and insisted they lead the way to the stables at once.

There was a bit of a silence while the two men looked at each other.

At last Van Helsing raised one eyebrow and said, "Well, at least she can't be any worse than you, Carl."

On that note, they attempted to set out.

Hannah was, initially, a bit of a problem.

It took fully twenty minutes for Carl to persuade her that their leave-taking was a good thing, although, he later confided to the others, it was Van Helsing she would regret the loss of.

They looked at Van Helsing, who sat, tight-lipped and with a slight blush stealing over his distinguished features, on a nervous, piebald mare.

"I'd feel inclined to laugh," Carl added, "if it weren't for the fact that he'd knock me off my horse if I did."

"Which would be a shame," said Van Helsing, "as it took you an hour to get on in the first place."

Tamerlaine clutched the mane of her horse in both hands and grinned desperately. When she said she rode not-well she spoke truth, and she was supremely nervous— not just about the impression bad horsemanship would make on her companions, but the impression bad horsemanship would make on her body.

"I will make you a deal," she announced to her horse, much to Carl and Van Helsing's amusement. "You see me safely to my destination, and I won't beat you to death with a stick. I've never broken a bone in my life, and I don't intend to start now." Satisfied, she looked at the men.

"Are we going?"

"We're going," said Van Helsing firmly.

She grinned broadly and motioned with her hand. "Age before beauty."

"In that case Carl should be going first."

"I think not!" exclaimed Carl. "With _my_ sense of direction? We'd be lost in five minutes. Anyway I am not either older than you, Van Helsing. Which of the two of us has memories of fighting at Masada?"

"I'd love to explore that more fully," said Tamerlaine, "but hadn't we really better be getting on?"

They set off.


	31. Reminiscences

Carl's French confession quietly lifted from "Molokai: The Story of Father Damien."

Agrajag stolen from Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Trilogy.

And random jitterings: Phantom of the Opera comes out Friday! Woo-hoo!

Chapter Thirty-One: Reminisces

_I realize I am doomed to sow_

_The seeds that founder evermore_

It was early morning, well before eight, with a disconsolate sun struggling to make itself felt. It was a long ride to Wales, taking the better part of the day— knowing they would have to make camp somewhere along the way, Carl had thought to pack blankets. Unfortunately he hadn't thought of bringing a canvas, and naturally, just after noon it began to rain.

Tamerlaine looked at him and laughed.

They rode through the rain.

They made camp for the night in a copse of trees, rolling themselves in blankets. Tamerlaine, as if out of nowhere, procured an enormous black umbrella— wordlessly, and regardless of propriety, the three huddled underneath it, leaning against a large tree trunk.

"I should have known," said Carl. "I always get rained on. Rain follows me. I got rained on on the way here— I got rained on in Transylvania—"

"When was that?" asked Van Helsing.

"On the boat, don't you remember?"

"You mean the ship?"

"Lets not quibble over terms. Yes."

"Oh." Van Helsing thought. "I thought that was just you getting seasick."

"It was partly me getting seasick, and partly precipitation."

Tamerlaine was giggling. "You two must be the most fantastic friends."

They were both absolutely silent and that made her laugh harder. "What went on in Transylvania?"

"Nothing good," said Carl and Van Helsing simultaneously.

"For starters, I didn't even want to go. I tried to explain this in a calm and reasonable manner to Jinette, firstly, and Van Helsing, secondly."

"_Wait_!" said Van Helsing, lifting his pitch into a credible imitation of Carl's voice, albeit amplified for comic effect. "_Van Helsing! I don't want to go to Transylvania_!"

Tamerlaine stuffed her hand in her mouth to quiet her laughter.

Carl was silent for a moment. Then he said, "That doesn't sound like me at all."

"He was griping and complaining the whole way," Van Helsing told Tamerlaine, grinning sharply. "_But I'm not a field man_—"

"Well, I'm not!" said Carl.

"You are now," said Tamerlaine.

Van Helsing said, "Incidentally, I've been meaning to talk to you about your childhood problem, Carl—"

"My what?"

"Cook tells me you were a little— how shall I put this— prone to overindulgence?"

"It was baby fat," said Carl immediately, setting Tamerlaine off again.

"At least," she finally managed, "he's not got that problem anymore. Admittedly he's just traded it in for a different one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Tamerlaine exchanged glances with Van Helsing.

"You hunch," said Van Helsing.

"I don't!"

"You do."

"I don't."

"You most certainly do."

Carl looked at Tamerlaine, who said mildly, "You do, you know. It's not a _bad_ hunch—"

"Look, what is this, Carl-bashing day? Lets talk about Van Helsing for a while. Did you know he steals wine and other spirits from the Cardinal's personal stock?"

Tamerlaine shrieked with laughter and Van Helsing said warningly, "Carl—"

"And drinks it Saturday night. Every Saturday night," said Carl triumphantly. "So, Sunday morning at services, we hear a disturbance amongst the distant pews— we know exactly where to look."

"Tamerlaine's next," said Van Helsing, scowling at both of them.

"No," said Carl.

"Its alright," said Tamerlaine. "If you can find anything glee-worthy about me at all I'd be immensely pleased to have you bring it up."

There was a very, very long pause.

Then Carl said, "When you were younger you used to let me sit on you."

"Carl," said Tamerlaine with a grin, "you weighed at least twenty pounds more than I. It wasn't as though I had a choice."

"Incidentally," said Van Helsing, "I'm very upset at the heedless destruction of my stolen trousers."

"Borrowed."

"Borrowed without permission."

"But still borrowed."

"Borrowing something without permission is stealing, Carl."

"Bugger your trousers. Its freezing," Carl complained.

"There, there," said Tamerlaine. She put an arm about Carl's shoulders and pulled him closer. Van Helsing observed this with marked approval and Carl stuck his tongue out at him.

"One of these days, the Cardinal's going to find out about your girlfriends, Carl—"

"Girlfriends plural?" said Tamerlaine innocently.

"He already knows," said Carl.

Van Helsing's superior smirk died away abruptly. "_What?_"

"I told him."

"_Voluntarily_?"

"In confession, was it?" prompted Tamerlaine.

"No, in conversation. If I had told him in confession he'd still not know."

"How so?"

"Because I make it a point always to confess in French." This led to extreme merriment on the part of both Tamerlaine and Van Helsing. Carl carried on unperturbed. "Jinette doesn't speak French, you see. Italian, yes, Latin, somewhat, French, not at all. And so I confess in French and he just sits there looking wise, nodding his head, and saying 'God will forgive you, my son.'" A fierce, extremely unrepentant grin appeared on Carl's face. "Bit of an idiot, really, our Jinette."

"You don't say," wheezed Tamerlaine.

"Anyway I just out and told him about the Transylvanian barmaid."

"Why?"

"Because he wouldn't shut up, and I knew that would do the trick."

"And you didn't ask me in to watch?" demanded Van Helsing irritably.

"You saw the results anyway."

"Did I?"

"Do you remember the crack in the statue of Saint Agrajag?" Carl turned his wolfish grin on Van Helsing.

"Made by a slight earthquake, the Cardinal said."

"It was made," said Carl clearly, "by a paper-weight carefully aimed at my head. Fortunately Jinette doesn't move as quickly as once he did, and I had the great presence of mind to duck. Anyway it does you no credit to try and blackmail me with such things, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. Hence my letting Jinette in on my adventures."

"Aha," said Van Helsing. "Adventures. Such an appropriate and yet— _sterile_ word for things."

"Do you intend to tell him about me?" inquired Tamerlaine softly.

"Dearest, I intend to _show_ him about you."

"What, right in the office?" said Van Helsing, and received pinches, pokes, and punches for his trouble. "I only asked a question!" he protested from under the barrage.

"What time is it?" asked Tamerlaine.

Carl consulted with his pocketwatch. "Half past nine. Or," he added, upon further consideration, "five forty-five."

"Tomorrow we will find my uncle," said Tamerlaine dreamily. "Do you think we can reach him in time?"

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," said Van Helsing. "What's he going to do with the weapon, anyway? Hold England hostage?"

"You never know," said Carl. "And that's what worries me."

"Shouldn't we have some sort of plan in mind?" asked Tamerlaine. "I'm all for improvisation under the right circumstances, but some plan would be nice."

"Oh dear," said Carl, "you're beginning to sound like me."

"The plan is this," said Van Helsing. "We go to the Manor tomorrow, break in, overpower your uncle, disable the weapon, and turn Edward and Simon over to the police."

"Oh dear," said Carl to him. "You're beginning to sound like Van Helsing."

"I _am_ Van Helsing," Van Helsing growled.

Carl put a hand on his arm. "I'm _very_ sorry," he said sincerely.

"Shut up and go to sleep, Carl."

"It'll work?" asked Tamerlaine.

"I've fought worse monsters than the man your uncle is," Van Helsing assured her. "No need to worry. Go to sleep."

"But it might only be a quarter to six," protested Carl.

"Go to sleep, Carl."

"But—"

"_Sleep_."

Carl folded his arms. "I regard this as a major violation of my free will."

"Sleep, Carl. _Now_."

He was, for a time, quiet. Then, "Van Helsing."

"Whaa?"

"You're snoring. Please stop."

"Grr."

"All I said was— ow! How dare you— ow! Well, this is fine behavior I must s— _ow_!"

And the rest, after some ferocious but subdued muttering, was silence.


	32. Heart

Chapter Thirty-Two: Heart

_When once again I am loosed free_

_I in the darkness finally see_

The sun rose very sluggishly the next morning. It shed light on the verdant fields, a rushing brook or two, standalone trees. It shed light on a small group of houses somewhere off in the distance, which marked the only village for miles, on mountainous crags rearing up abruptly, and on three horsed figures galloping madly over the rocky ground.

Gradually in front of them appeared the silhouette of a castle stronghold, situated on ground that, disturbingly, didn't seem to go on very far.

"That's the cliff," Tamerlaine shouted over the roar of the wind. "We're approaching from the left side— the front entrance is to our right, and the garden wall straight ahead."

"We make for the wall," Van Helsing called back. "That should provide cover enough."

"Van Helsing!" hollered Carl.

"What?"

"Can we get off the horses now?"

"What? I didn't hear you!"

"I said, can we get _off_ the bloody_ horses— now_!"

Van Helsing shook his head. "I still can't get what you're saying," he yelled. "Hang on a minute, we've got to get off the horses now!"

They slowed, the wind slowed, and was replaced momentarily by an exasperated yet relieved sigh from Carl.

The wall lay some yards ahead, the hulking side of the stone manor just beyond it. There was no door visible, but a smallish window, and once they clambered over the wall, Van Helsing headed for it.

"Tamerlaine," he said breathlessly, crouching beside it, " it may not be a good idea for you to—"

"Don't say it," said Tamerlaine, shaking a fierce finger at him. "Don't even. I'm not going to turn back now, after coming this far. I don't care what you say, I'm coming in with you."

Van Helsing stared at her. "Of course you're coming in with me," he said. "I was just wondering if you could do something about your skirts."

Tamerlaine looked down at herself and said a bad word. "I should have borrowed trousers from you."

"Carl split my extra pair, anyway."

"Not like I had a choice!"

"Can I see your knife, Van Helsing?" He handed it over. Without hesitation, Tamerlaine slit the front and back of her skirts and tied them around her legs, creating makeshift and somewhat piratical trousers. She handed the knife back to Van Helsing with a quick thank your and turned expectantly to the window.

"I should go in first. I'm reasonably certain they won't hurt me." She looked at Carl. "Any protests?"

"After the business with the knife, I am not about to complain," said Carl, holding up his hands. She smiled at him, pulled him towards her and kissed him. By the time she let go Van Helsing had the window open.

"Here I go," she said quietly, and with a quick assist from Van Helsing she made it up and over the windowsill.

Carl and Van Helsing allowed her a few moments to scout the room, and then began to climb in at the window as well. Carl was halfway in when he heard her scream. He gave an exclamation of surprise himself and fell the rest of the way in. Van Helsing was beside him in a moment and whispering furiously in his ear.

"Where did it come from?"

"Through that door," Carl faltered, pointing. Van Helsing rushed for it, moving quickly and quietly, and Carl followed.

They opened the door, and found themselves in a dim hallway. Faces stared at them from the oil paintings that lined the walls, and there was a musty smell in the air. Carl found it quite easy to believe that murder had been done here. He tore his mind away from such morbid thoughts and concentrated on being silent.

Van Helsing, alert, crouched, tense, let him down the hallway and through a door. The room they entered was very small and contained a table, ac hair, and a narrow stairwell.

Van Helsing breathed the air in deeply.

"This house is built into a slope," he said, very quietly. "We are in the basement. We have to go up to go out."

Carl did not like the look of the stairs at all— they looked rotted, the wood dank and ancient. But neither did he want to stay where he was. He moved forward and gulped.

"I am smaller than you," he said. "I'll go first and see if they hold my weight."

Very slowly, he put a foot on the first step. It creaked, and he looked back at Van Helsing, who nodded encouragingly.

Another step.

Creak.

Another scream from above.

Something in Carl snapped and he raced up the remainder of the steps, heedless of the danger, concentrating only on reaching Tamerlaine. As he achieved the top step he spared a second to glance down triumphantly, just in time to see the steps collapse in on themselves with a very loud noise and a very big cloud of dust.

He stared with horrified eyes at Van Helsing, who looked up from his perch on the table and said, "Go. _Go_, Carl. I'll find another way."

"Right," said Carl, and ran for it.

Out the door, down a hall, through another door, up two steps, into another corridor— his mind had taken flight along with his body, and ever afterwards he remained convinced that it was his heart that led him to the room wherein stood Tamerlaine, backing slowly away from Simon.

Simon looked up as Carl entered, and beckoned him on with the pistol.

"I bid you welcome," he said cheerfully. "I knew when my wife showed up that you wouldn't be far behind."

Carl gasped for breath, completely at a loss. Somewhere behind him there was a violent boom, and a shockwave rocked the three of them. Simon retained the gun, smiling easily.

"Our dear Uncle Edward is testing your little machine," he told Carl. "Its been rather amusing. He's demolished three buildings and an outhouse so far. He's quite taken with it."

"Simon," said Tamerlaine, and moved forward. He waved the pistol at her.

"I wouldn't try that on with me. Its been a long time since you last pretended to be in love with me. I imagine you'd be out of practice."

"I wasn't pretending," Tamerlaine protested, moving forward another step.

"Oh no? Well, you were certainly fast enough to attach yourself to the friar, here."

"Carl is a childhood friend," she explained, edging forward some more. "We have a very strong bond."

"You are in love with him now."

"I was never out of love with him. He was my first friend and I cannot abandon him."

"You would choose him over me," said Simon, and closed his eyes.

Several things happened at once.

Another shockwave moved through the room, throwing them off balance. Tamerlaine leapt for the gun and Simon slapped her with it, hitting her across the face. The force of the blow knocked her backwards into Carl's arms and they both went down, blood and tears mingling on Tamerlaine's face.

Carl let go of her and rolled away, his heart pounding, anger pulsing through him. He saw that Tamerlaine had fallen in the corner, out of harm's way. He pushed himself to his knees and looked up into the cold, expressionless face of Simon.

Simon leveled the pistol at him. "I warned you never to touch her," he said, his voice as smooth and blank as his face.

He pulled the trigger.


	33. End

Chapter Thirty-Three: End

_That at last the game is done_

_With my last breath the day is won_

A very long time ago, Carl had attempted to explain to Van Helsing what life was about. The monster hunter had been jaded by his endless missions of destruction, and— this was before Anna— insisted that he had never known love.

"My friend, you— and I say this in the best, most well-meaning way possible— are a fool. To live is to love. Your regard for life, even if it is only your own, is often the greatest love you will ever have. It is when you find a love greater even than that, that you are willing to give up all else for it. Even life is as nothing when compared with that love." Carl peered out the window. "Love like that is like a cosmic cry, bouncing around the stars."

Now, a wordless shout of rage echoed around the valley outside, as Tamerlaine cannoned into Simon's body and knocked him to the floor.

Van Helsing, breathless, found his way into the room in time to see her standing over Simon, the gun held less than a foot away from his unblinking eyes.

"I heard a shot," said Van Helsing.

"Take the gun!" she cried, thrusting it at him, and raced to Carl, who lay on the ground.

Carl sat up, ashen-faced. Tamerlaine supported him, arms around him. Van Helsing watched Simon— a look of such venom crossed the prone man's face that he took a step back.

"Are you alright?"

"It hit my leg," wheezed Carl. "Winged it, I think. Just a flesh wound."

Tamerlaine buried her face in his shoulder. "Thank God," she said, weeping. "Thank God."

"You're getting blood on my neck, dearest. Are you alright?"

"Fine, just a cut."

Another shockwave ran through the room and Van Helsing leapt alert. "What is that?"

"My uncle is in the back, with Carl's invention," said Tamerlaine briefly.

"Ah." Van Helsing examined the gun Tamerlaine had taken from Simon. It was empty and he threw it on the ground and stared at Simon.

"Did you hit Tamerlaine?" he demanded. Simon smiled very slightly and spat at his feet. Van Helsing looked at him in utter disgust, leaned down and picked him up.

"I've been looking forward to this," he said, and drove his fist into Simon's stomach. Simon gasped out all the oxygen in his lungs and folded over. Van Helsing let him go and assisted Carl to his feet.

"Lets go get your uncle, Tamerlaine."

"Wait a second, wait a second," gasped Carl, hopping on his good leg. He flung an arm around Tamerlaine, hopped over to Simon.

"All my life I've been taught never to kick a good man when he's down," he said, through his teeth. "They never said anything about what to do to a bad man."

Gingerly he rested his weight on his bad leg, pulled back his good one, and delivered a hefty kick to Simon's ribs. Almost immediately he sagged, bearing down on Tamerlaine until Van Helsing came and hoisted him back up.

"What is it?"

"I think I've broken my bloody toe," said Carl.

"Poor Carl—" said Tamerlaine sympathetically.

"But I feel _wonderful_," said Carl, and grinned determinedly. "Now can we finish this job?"

Van Helsing gave him back to Tamerlaine and found the door leading out.

Outside, the sun was shining. It shone on the rubble strewn across the landscape. It shone on the odd contraption set up on the edge of the cliff. It shone on the face of Sir Edward Gentle.

Van Helsing stood still and gazed at the face of the man he'd come in search of.

It was a handsome and distinguished face, lined with sixty-odd years of slight smiles. It was the innocent joviality of it that was frightening— he looked like someone's grandfather gone horrible wrong. He stared at the three of them with a glint in his eye.

The mouth of Carl's machine stared at them too. It looked almost more human.

"Come forward, my friends," said Edward Gentle, raising one hand and beckoning. "I've been anticipating our meeting. Ah, dear Tamerlaine— so sorry you found out about all this."

"I'll bet you are," she said tightly. Glancing at her, Carl could see the pulse jumping in her neck.

Edward's gaze slid from her and lighted on Carl. "And— could that be young Carl Hampton? My, how you've changed."

Carl gritted his teeth. Edward's gaze flicked down to his bloody leg and he smiled.

"Haven't opened up old wounds, have you?" he enquired softly. He jibe was clear and under his arm Carl felt Tamerlaine tense up. But Edward's gaze slipped on.

He stared coolly at the tall, motionless figure of Van Helsing.

"And you are Gabriel Van Helsing, the renowned monster hunter. We have not met, but since I first heard your name I have done some— research into your background. I have heard some stories that were, quite frankly— unbelievable."

"Feel free to believe them all," said Van Helsing through his teeth.

"Including Jekyll and Hyde? Masterson the Wizard? Morte Coronis, the banshee? _Dracula_? Come now, Gabriel."

"I get around."

"So I see." Edward Gentle's sweet blue eyes looked past him. "Ah, Simon. Problem?"

"Broken rib," said Simon, limping and grinning like a maniac.

"Oh dear. Come here."

Simon approached him and stood to one side, out of the path of the machine. "Before you kill Mr. Hampton, I'd like a little private time with him."

"We shall see."

Tamerlaine gripped Carl tighter. "If you think I'm letting go, you've got another think coming. How could you do all these things, uncle? You murdered my father, ruined my mother's life, you killed all those people, and for _what_?"

"I just wanted to rule the world," said Edward Gentle, smiling mildly. "Is that so bad?"

Tamerlaine stared hard at him. "Then why not kill me as well?" she asked. "Instead of making my life hell on earth and forcing me to keep on living it?"

"Up until now," said Edward, "my love for you, my only child, has never been provoked beyond what it can bear. But now, I'm afraid—"

From his waist he pulled two pistols, pearl-handled, his initials engraved on the sides. There came from the throats of both Carl and Simon identical cries of alarm— while Edward was distracted, Van Helsing too brandished his pistols, aiming them and Simon and Edward.

"Well well well," said the older man, smiling at him. "If it isn't a good old-fashioned stand-off. I must tell, you— may I call you Gabriel? I don't intend to die for a good long time. Obviously at the moment you would disagree with that sentiment. Somehow I doubt that I could win you over with an appeal to your material sensibilities— and so my proposition is this." With a slight movement he shifted the path of one pistol from Van Helsing to Carl. "In ten minutes time the authorities will arrive, prepared to take into custody a dangerous killer who, up until recently, was presumed dead. Namely, my lovely relative, Tamerlaine. What they may find, if everything goes wrong, is four dead bodies, and one man, a Mr. Van Helsing who, as I've heard, is now wanted in at least seven different countries for repeated acts of murder." His smile sharpened. "Think about it, dear Gabriel. You may protest your innocence, but with no one else alive to corroborate your story, why should not everyone denounce you for the monster that you are?"

The shock and pain on Van Helsing's face clearly delighted him, for he laughed.

"Yes, I heard about the— hairier aspects of our Transylvanian adventures. Transformation into an ungodly specimen of creation? The murder of your beloved while thus altered? Classic stuff, Gabriel. Truly one for the history books. That is your future. But, on the other hand, if events unfold more to my liking—" He cocked the pistols aimed at Tamerlaine and Carl. "Allow me to dispose of these two, and even Simon if you insist. And then I will proclaim you a hero to all. You will be redeemed, you can leave behind that life of self-sacrifice and forbearance and murder— come back to England for good. Start over. I cannot offer you your true past, Gabriel, but I can give you a chance to make your own." He paused and watched Van Helsing expectantly, eyes bright.

Van Helsing shook his head slightly. "If you had done more research, you would know what my response would be."

"Meaning no?" The smile intensified. "Allow me to give you incentive to make— the correct decision."

His finger tightened on the trigger of the gun pointed at Tamerlaine.

Time appeared to slow down, allowing Carl to sense a repeat of the events that happened just a few minutes ago. With absolute silence, Simon ran for Edward, feet pounding the ground, arms outstretched, mouth open, eyes wide. As the gun went off he crashed into him, knocking him backwards.

For a moment they danced on the edge of the cliff, fumbling for a foothold that would lead them back to safety.

Not too far away, Van Helsing pursed his lips and blew lightly at them.

They tumbled over the edge, their hands locked to each other's arms, Simon still silent, Edward screaming; an awful, inhuman sound, the sound of evil getting its due.

Van Helsing raced for the edge; Carl and Tamerlaine followed more slowly, Carl limping and Tamerlaine shaky. The bullet had gone into the ground not half an inch from her.

They peered over the edge.

"He should have known," Van Helsing said heavily, "never to have the final act on the edge of a cliff."

Behind them the machine went off, collapsing Tamerlaine's ancestral home, wherein she had spent childhood summers and her father had died. Rather shell-shocked, they turned and gaped at it.

"I'm ready to go home now," said Carl, and fainted.

* * *

I was going to let you all stew for a while, but I quick updated.... because I care! That should be a bumper sticker.

Not over, really! Another finish-up chapter is on the way, so now would be the time for any lingering questions and doubts. But, hah! Did people actually think I'd kill Carl? Haven't we been over this before? Really I was delighted with the response to the last chapter, though... nice to know I've actually got to people so they care about my (stolen) characters. Thanks much.

A quick question, everyone... the actual novel that I'm working on right now is a very dark, Neil-Gaiman-ish fantasy. I'm thinking of posting it piece by piece on ff's sister site, fiction. Any of you think you would read it? I've posted things on there before and didn't really get any reaction, which is very disappointing. So I wondered if I'd have an audience if I let my ff reviewers know about it. Question mark?

OhTheConfusion (aka HomicidalChild) good guesses! You got pretty close, see?

MariAmber, sorry, but I love doing cliffhangers because of the reaction I get from them. It shows whether or not I'm actually involving my audience on an emotional level. Some I even do as an experiment, but this one was planned from a long time ago.

And to bloodredcherry, Great to have another new reader! Yeah, everything that can be construed as funny, was intended to be funny. At least, that's what I'm going to say. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.


	34. Faith

Chapter Thirty-Four: Faith

_And if the journey never ends_

_If my life goes ever far_

_The light refracted jumps and bends_

_My home is wherever you are_

Five days later they had journeyed to London, in a carriage this time. It had taken a while, but Tamerlaine finally recovered from the backlash of emotions— after spending a day crying in her hotel room, she emerged weak but smiling.

"So ends the sad career of Tamerlaine Gentle, murderess and mental patient."

"It is too bad we could not pin the blame for those crimes where they belonged," commented Carl.

"He took them to his grave," said Tamerlaine. "I think that's enough."

"I'm anxious to see what they make of the scene down there," admitted Van Helsing. "I know its morbid of me, but honestly. Bodies of Edward Gentle and Simon— whatever his real name was— found in the valley, along with the wreckage of a strange machine? House totally demolished? The press should have a field day. I'm glad my name won't enter into it, for once."

Tamerlaine looked from him to Carl, who was smiling purely from the pleasure of being near her again. She smiled back.

"Well," she said, "what shall I do? Presumed dead by everyone, no relatives, I've a chance to make a new life for myself. Shall I take it?"

"Actually," said Van Helsing slowly, "I've spoken to your solicitor, Mr. Toddey. Very nice man, very understanding." He gripped Tamerlaine's shoulder. "He's never believed that you could have done such things," he said gently. "He's willing to maneuver things so you can still collect your inheritance. It will set you up in a new town, with a new name, and a new chance— provided you remain in England."

Tamerlaine turned to look at Carl. Van Helsing caught the look and the thought crossed his mind that he had better things to do.

"Must go see about lunch," he said, and made his escape.

Left alone, Carl and Tamerlaine sat and looked at each other thoughtfully.

"They don't allow women in the Vatican, do they," she asked. "Bit of a man's job." Carl shook his head. "I wonder what Van Helsing thought he would do if he brought back his Anna with him."

"Most likely he wouldn't have come back. He'd have gone off, perhaps, started fresh."

"Are you sure?" asked Tamerlaine.

Carl sighed. "How can I be sure of anything? I realize that Van Helsing and I are alike in that our entire lives, as near as we can remember anyway, have been spent in the Vatican, doing what we do now. How do you give up a quest that has consumed your whole life?"

"That's what I thought," said Tamerlaine.

"But I think I _could_ give it up— for perfection."

"Are you referring to marriage, Carl?" Tamerlaine laughed. "There's nothing perfect about marriage. Trust me, I've _been_ married."

"Yes, to _Simon_."

"And what of it? Do you still resent him? I do too, actually. But he did die to save me— and so I believe we must count him redeemed."

"_Redeemed_? Sorry, was that before or after he tried to kill me, 'redeemed'?"

"After, of course," said Tamerlaine equably. She smiled suddenly, and captured his hand. "Carl, I love you more than anyone, more than I can say. And that is why I cannot ask you to give up your life's work. You have accomplished so much more than I have, than I ever will— I cannot ask you to deny all that. And I will not."

Carl said, quietly, "What _do _you ask of me?"

"To love me, I suppose. To think about me when you get lonely, and wish me there again by your side."

"Well," said Carl. "I've been doing that my whole life. I guess I can simply carry on."

They went to the opera that night, for a change of pace, to get lost in a world not their own. But even there they caught emotions and truths that applied in their lives.

_Ah, must I leave thee here, in endless night to dream_

_Where joy is dark and drear, and sorrow all supreme_

_Where nature day by day will sing in altered tone_

_This weary roundelay— _

_He loves thee_

_He is gone— _

In the dark, Tamerlaine's fingers curled around Carl's hand. They sat shoulder to shoulder, side by side, and faced forward.

Van Helsing sat alone, his face set, his eyes blank and heedless of what went on before him. In his mind was the echo of a woman's voice.

_And so it all comes to a finish_.

_I have made the world_, thought Van Helsing, _a little safer. And yet here I sit on my own_.

_Well_, said the voice,_ there's always Hannah_.

The audience was startled by the sudden sound of Van Helsing's loud laughter.

The world was a better place, and this story was over.

It was over a year later when the parcel came for Carl at the Vatican. It was postmarked London, and his fingers shook as he opened it slowly.

Van Helsing noticed. "Carl, its not as though she's going to suddenly pop out of a package that big. I sincerely doubt that she's mailed herself to you."

"Hush," said Carl authoritatively. With Van Helsing looking over his shoulder he undid the last string and pulled back the brown paper wrapping.

It was a book.

A book bound in the simple style that was the trademark of the most prestigious of London publishers, with the title stamped on the front in gold.

_Life_, it said,_ and Other Works of Fiction_.

Below that it gave Tamerlaine's name as the author, with a slight difference— _Tamerlaine G. Hampton._

Carl smiled, big and brave, tears seeping from the edges of his sky blue eyes. He opened it in the middle and flipped through it slowly.

_Tirra-lirra, to speak sooth_

_No-one knows the awful truth_

_The road is long, the sky is grey_

_I've saved my hope for another day_

_Live in the moment, my child, hold on_

_Blink just but once and the world is gone_

_The road has been so long and rough_

_I have not seen life long enough_

_We must not go too far, too high_

_We've lost our wings, we cannot fly_

_I dreamed that once I was loosed free_

_Don't touch me, do not look at me_

_I turn to you in deepest night_

_To make the darkness take to flight_

_I've loved, I've lost, I've followed down_

_The captain and his crew..._

_There's not much left to be left behind_

_All's left to me and you_

_Lead me on the paths I ought to walk_

_Speak for me when I cannot talk_

_When once again I am loosed free_

_I in the darkness finally see_

_That at last the game is done_

_With my last breath the day is won_

_And if the journey never ends_

_If my life goes ever far_

_The light refracted jumps and bends_

_My home is wherever you are_

"A book of poetry," he said. "She always used to write poetry when we were little."

"Is there a dedication?" asked Van Helsing curiously. "Look in the front."

"No there isn't," said Carl.

"You didn't even look. No '_for my beloved Carl and his little friend Van Helsing_'?"

Carl showed him. As he had suspected, apart from title and publishing information, the pages were blank until the book proper began.

Carl smiled once more. Everything was alright. He needed no reassurance, he didn't need it to be tied down with words, to know that she belonged to him.

Now, and always.

_The End_

* * *

Thanks for sticking through it all, everybody! I know this was a really bloody long fic, and I didn't intend to make it so when I started, but then things just kind of got out of hand... anyway thanks again.

Especially to my reviewers: OhTheConfusion, aka HomicidalChild (and aren't you glad we finally got the not-really-incest thing worked out? I am :), MariAmber (who is starting a fan website for my fanfiction, can you believe it?), bloodredcherry, fanfictionfanatic, RogueCajunOzsGrl (who writes some pretty hilarious fics, check them out), Lady Sirinial, Carnicirthial, Nfinity Nite Monaghan (who likes Dom! Yay!), anonymous eris, Nikoru Sanzo, Lady ot Rings (who I think followed me over here from my LOTR fics), szhismine, tristar3149 (who I think wanted a major love scene or something), LalaithCat (who has a cool name), katter (where'd you go, kat?), FlutterbyButterfly, trecebo (who gave me my first review for this fic), the Hobbit Lass, word junky, and one lone review from axicana. Thank you thank you thank you for putting up with my obfuscations and branching plot points. Its been a tough ride but I think we finally brought the bronco down.

I think I will post the Lost Episode with Van Helsing and Hannah. I had some people request it anyway, so I think I'll go ahead and put it on here. But thanks again, everybody! Oh, and you can read me now on fictionpress, my penname is foxfirelightswitch. Thanks!


	35. Lost Episode

Okay, being as its actually been requested... (gasp!) Here is the missing episode! So what do you think?

Oh, also, this is even more interesting if you read it while listening to Jet's "Are You Gonna Be My Girl." Just a tip. :)

_Takes place when Carl and Tamerlaine convince Van Helsing to go and attempt to persuade Hannah to help them out._

Big Bang Theory: The Lost Episode

Van Helsing slipped out the door and turned to close it, catching a last glimpse of Carl and Tamerlaine, watching him with laughter plain in their eyes.

_Not fair_, he thought. _Completely unfair_.

_Having a female admirer? I should have thought you'd be used to that by now, Van Helsing._

_Well, I'm not, he thought irritably. And what's more I don't intend to get used to it._

Female admirer? It sounded so nice in theory. But when applied to this particular female—

He could hear, in the distance, Hannah making the loud noises that, in her world, passed for a normal speaking voice. She seemed to be outlining the dinner order for the cook— Van Helsing caught the words "gruel" and "thin" and "small portions." How on earth had she managed to cram so much weight on with the diet she sustained? And why did she and Carl look nothing alike? Presumably there were some physical similarities below the rolls of fat—

He had to terminate that line of thought abruptly because he was making himself nauseous.

_Remember why you're doing this, Van Helsing_.

Pause.

_Why am I doing this again?_

_To help out Carl's girl._

Ah yes. Well. If he was prepared to make this much of a sacrifice, he had better get some appreciation from Tamerlaine, at least. A kiss would suffice, provided it was accompanied by a large sum of money.

He tried to think of a plan of action for attacking Hannah—

_Good God, Van Helsing! Think of another wording for it! Quick!_

—for persuading Hannah to co-operate.

_Better. But not much._

Something that, preferably, did not involve physical contact of any kind.

Standing across the room and threatening her with a bow and arrow, perhaps. He reached the door of the den of the beast— it was ajar and therein he saw Hannah, reclining on a couch, which seemed to be creaking under her girth. He clenched his teeth and pushed open the door.

"Ms. Hampton—"

"Miss!"

"Miss Hampton. I have come to tell you—" At this inopportune moment, words failed him and he stood for a bit with his mouth open. After a few false starts, she stood up and strode towards him, having taken this silence entirely the wrong way.

"Mr. Van Helsing—" she cooed, coming much closer than he would have desired. "I understand completely."

"No you don't—"

"No, I do. I really do. And much as it is inappropriate for you to enter a lady's boudoir unaccompanied—"

"This is the drawing room!"

"I completely understand your motivation, and sadly, I must inform you, to my infinite regret, that your dreams and desires can never be fulfilled."

At this point Van Helsing's eyes opened so wide he became momentarily afraid they would pop out of his skull.

"I have not been unaware of the regard you bear me," Hannah went on, obviously enjoying the whole scenario. "I have been made aware of it in many ways— the manner in which you stare at me when you think I'm not looking; the way you so often seem speechless when I am about; the way you try to protect me from things that would compromise my innocent maidenhood—"

Van Helsing uttered a strangled shriek but she took no notice and swept on.

"Much as I appreciate all the attention you have paid me, I must say that I am obliged to ask you not to act on it. I am, you know, nearly thirty by this point—"

"But Carl—"

"I don't _care _what my brother said, I am only _twenty-nine_!" she said sharply, then relaxed and smiled. "And I am not prepared to entirely give up my solitary life. Many things are arranged in such a manner specifically to please me, and I am not sure what about married life would likewise— please me." She gave him a look from under her eyelashes and Van Helsing's stomach lurched. "Therefore I feel compelled to inform you that your proposal of marriage would be rejected."

"Urk," said Van Helsing indistinctly.

"However, I do like you quite a bit, and I will of course help you on your way in any manner in which I am required to do so." Hannah got a bit bogged down in sentence structure and took a moment to fix her hair.

"Graa," said Van Helsing.

"I know exactly what you mean, and I feel the pain too. You must go now, but— you may kiss my cheek."

Hannah proffered her upturned face to Van Helsing. It was clear to the monster hunter that there was no escaping his fate.

Lips pursed, and distaste suffusing his tan skin with red, he leaned in.


End file.
